Color Blind
by InvisibleAviator
Summary: In the summer of 1994, the long dead tradition of courting had been revived. Derek Westbrook, a 10 year old from a small Virginia town brought it back when he wooed a girl two years his junior with candy, flowers, and a heart-shaped locket. Just a crush some folks around town said. Others whispered it wouldn't last, because she was of color. Over the years their love has endured.
1. Prologue

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.  
**

**Prologue**

_With teeth bared and spittle flying, the twelve-year-old boy screamed at the girl walking down the street. "If you don't get going nigger, we're going to kick your ass!" _

_Just a block from her home, her heart thumping heavily in her chest as she tried to sneak past the two boys, eight year old Yvonne Miller suddenly froze. Lips quivering, knees knocking, and eyes wide, Yvonne suddenly felt her undies go damp and the warm urine stream down her legs to soak her socks. Her cheeks heated as large tears pooled beneath the frames of her glasses, and then slid slowly down the sides of her face._

___"We'll give you to the count of three," Jasper Dalton ground out as he ball his fists. "and if you ain't at the end of the block by then, me and my brother will take your black ass out into the woods."_

_Jasper and his twin brother Clayton, circling Yvonne like two mean dogs let loose from their chains, did not see the boy in the tree with his air pistol locked and loaded. Ten year old Derek Westbrook, as sweat rolled down his face, cleared his eyes and got into a comfortable position in the crook of two large limbs of the tree. Seeing that Clayton's huge melon of a head made for a good target, Derek took aim. When Jasper spit on Yvonne's Spice Girls tank top, the thick phlegm ball of snot running slowly down her front, Derek felt a pain in his chest. When Yvonne hung her head and started to sob, without thinking any further he pulled the trigger. _

_When Clayton suddenly screamed out and grabbed the back of his head, Jasper took his attention away from Yvonne to see the rustling leaves and to hear the snap of branches from the large maple tree in the yard on the corner of Vine Street. _

_"Get away from her Jasper!" _

_Derek Westbrook hollered out as he slid down the thick trunk of the tree and just seconds later came bursting out of the garden gate. Running towards Jasper like a man with a purpose, Derek pointed the air pistol at the older boy, and through clenched teeth gave the boy another warning. "I said…get away from her!"_

_"H-He s-shot me! Jasper…I'm bleeding!" Clayton whined as he showed his brother blood smeared fingers.  
_

_"And I'll shoot you too Jasper Dalton if you don't leave her alone." Derek said. "I mean it Jasper! Get away from her!"_

___With his face decorated with smudged and fading stripes of mud, and a camouflage bandanna covering his hair, Derek, looking like a miniature soldier gestured with his free hand for Yvonne to step back. When she did as he asked, Derek put on his best Clint Eastwood glare, his eyes narrowing and his teeth grinding hard enough to make his dimples deepen. _

___Jasper flinched as he watched Derek's hand tighten on the grip of the gun, and to save face in front of his brother, he got cocky and went for the insult. _

_"I fucking dare you Westbrook! I fucking dare you fucking nigger lover!"_

_That was all it took for Derek to pull the trigger and shoot Jasper square in the forehead. The older youth swiped the thin trickle of blood from his high forehead and stared at his hand in shock. With Clayton, obviously the denser of the two whimpering quietly that he was dying, and Jasper with his mouth still hung open like a door with a broken hinge, Derek Westbrook felt as if he had to explain to them what had just happened.  
_

_"I told you to leave her alone, but you idiots didn't listen. So I had to shoot you both."_

_Gesturing with the gun for them to get going, the injured twins backed away slowly. Once certain that the gun-toting boy was not going to fire again, they spun around and took off running and crashing through the woods that led back to the trailer park. __The youngest son of Evelyn and Drew Westbrook knew he was going to suffer severely from the consequences once the dust settled, but at the moment he was doing what he felt any ten-year old boy with a crush would do._

_Once the cracking and snapping of foliage had ceased as the twins made their getaway, Derek's eyes softened as he looked over his shoulder at Yvonne who's breathing hitched as she fought to get her sobbing under control._

_"Hey Vonnie," Derek spoke softly. "Are you okay?"_

_Yvonne, with her eyes cast down, and her shoulders hunched as if she were trying to disappear into the pavement, shook her head slowly back and forth in answer. Feeling her shame from the short distance between them, Derek smiled and closed the gap. Using his shirttail, he gently wiped the tears and snot from her face, and took her by the hand. _

_"It's okay Vonnie, I'll walk you home."_

* * *

_A month passed by, and finally issued a reprieve, Derek was released from his bedroom prison. With one of his mother's canning jar filled to the rim with change and crumpled bills, he rode his bike over to the small five-and-dime store in town. Two hours later, with his jar now nearly empty, he headed back home with an inexpensive silver locket that set him back $22.25._

_While her family was preparing for the July 4th celebration, Yvonne sat in the shade of a tree in a wicker chair on the front lawn reading. She felt far from being an ugly duckling in her bright yellow sundress, and her new white sandals that her Aunt Janice brought back for Yvonne from her aunt's trip up north to Pittsburgh. Her mother had done her hair up in two long braids and twisted them into what looked like cinnamon rolls set high on the sides of her head. She was so deep into her book, that she took no notice of her crush, who walked back and forth in front of the neighbor's house across the street from her house.  
_

_Running a stick along the Johnson's fence, Derek prayed she would look up. But even the annoying clickety-clack of the branch across the slats of the picket fence didn't seem to draw her attention. Giving up, he took a deep breath, tossed the stick away, and crossed the street. _

_When she looked up, there he was standing on the walkway in front of her house. With his face clean and hair combed, Derek, dressed in a white tee and khaki shorts, stood with his hands shoved deep into his front pockets. _

_"Hi Derek." Yvonne said softly and stood up. Shifting the heavy frames of her glasses up her nose she placed her book on the seat. "You look nice today."_

_"So do you Vonnie," Derek said as he felt the necklace in his pocket. "I like your hair like that."_

_Being only ten, he had not yet learned the art of wooing, and so he approached and politely asked Yvonne to put her hand out. When she did, he placed the heart-shaped locket into her outstretched palm. Before she could properly thank him, Derek immediately asked what her favorite color was. Yvonne assumed this meant the courting ritual had begun, and so she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and giggled when Derek's face turn three shades to red._

_Through the hot hazy days of July and August, Yvonne received thirty small bouquets made up of yellow marigolds, and zinnias from his mother's garden. Along with the flowers she was also gifted with enough of her favorite candy to last her throughout the rest of summer vacation. Yvonne kept a few of the flowers and pressed them between pages of her favorite books and stored them in a large hat box along with other trinkets that Derek would give to her over time. After the locket began to corrode, it joined the other keepsakes. When she left home to join the army, the box was put up into the attic with the rest of her things. _

_Sucking on Lemon Heads and hanging out in the garden together went on until she reached her freshman year in high school. By then Yvonne had ditched the clunky glasses for contacts, and went from ponytails and braids adorned with hair ornaments, to wearing her hair in long twists. As she was making her slow transformation from ugly duckling to pretty teen, Yvonne began to take notice of changes in Derek as well. _

_Like most young men who after sprouting a few hairs in their pits, Derek started thinking about sex. He no longer found the tree in the garden interesting anymore, and no longer played with toy guns. What he had on his mind at age sixteen was how to become suave enough to convince Yvonne to let him explore what was beneath her skirts. Like a dog sniffing around a bitch, he asked permission to get close enough to get a good whiff._

_While some girls were considered progressive by dropping their drawers to show their sexual independence, Yvonne decided that she would wait. When she was ready she would let Derek know. Until then, he would have to rely on fantasies, and his hand._

_"When will you be ready Yvonne?" Derek asked. "I don't want to pressure you, but could we at least experiment?"_

_"What I have is special Derek, so if you wait it will be all the better." Yvonne said. "It's like fruit. If you wait for it to ripen just right...it's much sweeter."_

_And for two more years, Derek waited for her. On the day before he was to leave for Fort Jackson, South Carolina to start basic training, with a picnic basket full of her mother's fried chicken and potato salad, and a bundle of blankets, they made their way into the deep woods. After they reached the familiar clearing covered in soft blades of grass and wildflowers Yvonne told him that she chose that particular spot, because it held some of her best memories. _

_It was where they had spent many summer days as children catching crayfish in the rushing fresh water streams that wound through the backwoods. It was in the clearing that Yvonne taught the older boy to blow bubbles with wads of Bubblicious Bubble Gum, and he taught her how to load up her cheeks with sunflower seeds and crack and spit out the shells one at a time like a professional ballplayer. _

_ They ate until full and lazed beneath the thick canopy of the trees reminiscing about their childhood days. As the day grew long, the air chilled, and soon they were nestled beneath a blanket. Soon the kissing and petting overheated them until they had to toss the blankets away. When she began to remove her skirt, Derek shook his head and gently took her hands into his. He knew in his heart that Vonnie was the one, and he wanted it to be special.  
_

_"Will you wait for me Vonnie?"  
_

_"Yes Derek."  
_

_When he dropped Yvonne off at her front door just before dark, he kissed her, and holding her close he pressed his lips against her ear. _

_"I love you Vonnie." He whispered. "Tell me that you're my girl."  
_

_"I'm your girl."_


	2. Chapter 1

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.**

**Thank you all for the reviews. **

* * *

"Thanks for the lift McCall, take it easy man."

"No problem Westbrook. Enjoy your leave man."

"You too. See you in two weeks."

Because he had gone from basic combat training straight into advanced infantry, Derek had been away from home for over six months. So he was more than happy to share the expenses with his fellow Virginian, Private McCall when he offered him a ride.

All of the letters and cards that he had received filled with encouraging sayings and words of love, had helped to somewhat quell the homesick blues. But they could not replace being back in Virginia with his family and love. He did not immediately enter the house, but stood outside in the crisp January air. Even the heavy dark clouds over his head that hung low and threatened snow, could not dampen his good mood.

After retrieving the house key from beneath the lucky stone, he slid it into the lock and slowly opened the door. The first thing Derek noticed was that no one was home, and the second was the faint scent of the pine needles that still clung in the air from the long gone Christmas tree.

The other familiar odors were common ones that he had grown up with, like the oil soap that his mother used to clean the hardwood floors, and the lemon scented dusting spray. But there was another, one that was only present once a year, but had not been in the Westbrook home for some time. The duffel he carried dropped from his shoulder and was forgotten in the foyer, as he let his nose guide him down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Uniformly aligned on sheets of wax paper, in the circle of light cast by the pendant shade above, were a dozen candied apples. Their caramel coverings, shiny and smooth, made Derek's mouth water as he leaned over them and took a good whiff. Homemade caramel apples were Derek's favorite goody, and his mother had not made them since he was a boy in grade school. If his mother were home, he would tell her how much he loved her for making his favorite Halloween treat in the dead of winter.

Taking a seat on a stool, he picked one up, and bit into it. The caramel combined with the burst of tart flavor from the Granny Smith brought on indescribable joy that made him hum and drum his fingers on the counter.

He spun the stool around and nodded his head in thanks to the large copper kettle she used to heat up the confection on the front burner, and then saluted the basket of green apples on the counter. He munched on the apple with gusto, and before he knew it, he was licking the stick.

He recalled how the aroma would make its way up the stairs to bring his older brothers trouncing like a herd of stampeding elephants to get the first one. But no matter how much they tried to bully him, Evelyn always made sure Derek got the first bite. As he started in on another, it brought up fond memories.

* * *

_"Can I have one mom?"_

_"It's a bit late for sweets, Scamp."_

_His shoulders slumped as he slid his feet across the floor to stand in front of her._

_"What have you been up to?" Evelyn said as she wiped his face with the hem of her apron. "I swear you're always up to something." She said and kissed him on the forehead. "I can see it in your eyes Scamp."_

_"I haven't done nuthin' wrong."_

_As he protested, she could see his eyes going around the room, as he tried to avoid her stare. He did not want his mother to think that he was a voyeur, or better known in their neck of the woods, as a peeping tom. He knew Evelyn would give him a good talking to if she found out that her son had been up in the maple tree with a pair of binoculars, watching Yvonne Miller and Sarah Draper playing hopscotch in front of Sarah's house on Chestnut Street._

_"I haven't been up to nuthin'."_

_"You mean 'nothing' Derek, not nuthin'."_

_"Yes ma'am. I haven't been up to nothing."_

_"No Scamp." She chuckled lightly. "You have not been up to anything."_

_He groaned as she corrected him. "I have a headache mom. Please can I have a treat? Maybe my head hurts because I need some sugar."_

_"You must take me for a fool Scamp. Go upstairs and politely ask daddy to give you a couple of chewable tablets, and then go take your bath honey."_

_"Your hair looks nice mom." Derek said as he put on his best smile. "Ms. Trudy sure knows how to do hair. You look very pretty."_

_"Thank you honey, but you cannot sway me. You're cute, but I'm too smart to be taken with your charms Scamp Westbrook. No caramel apples this late in the evening. So get going."_

_When she turned her back to retrieve a tea towel, Derek stuck a filth encrusted finger in the warm pot of caramel on the stove burner and slid the candy covered digit into his mouth. When she spoke out telling him that she could see him, he grinned and wiped his finger on his pant leg. _

_"Can I take one on the bus tomorrow morning to give to Vonnie?"_

_"I don't see why not honey." She said. "That's very nice of you to think of her."_

_"I like her mom. She's always the nicest one on the bus. She just sits and reads the whole way, or talks to me, because she doesn't think I'm weird. And she smells good too, like cocoa butter and something else but I don't know what it is." Derek said with a frown. "She said the cocoa butter is what her mom puts on her elbows and knees to keep them from getting ashy."_

_"You know Scamp, you're a bit young for courting."_

_"We're just friends mom, but one day I'm going to let her know that I want her for my girl." Derek spoke proudly. "Like Christian and Samantha are." He said with confidence in his voice. "I'll buy her a nice piece of jewelry, and ask her what her favorite color is. Christian said you should always ask them about stuff they like."_

_"Is that so Mr. Westbrook?" She said raising an eyebrow. "Well your brother and Samantha Reagan are both sixteen, while you and Yvonne are still half pints."_

_He scrunched up his face and pressed his hand to his forehead. "It really hurts mom."_

_"Come on Scamp," She said while brushing the hair from his forehead." I'll get you something for your noggin. There is nothing like a mother's touch when you don't feel well."_

_Derek smiled and sat down next to Yvonne on the bus. When he handed her the caramel apple, she giggled and thanked him. She held the cellophane wrapped treat by the stick, turning it around and around. "Thank you Derek."_

_"You're welcome Vonnie." He said as he bumped her shoulder. "Are you going trick or treating tonight?"_

_"No, my mom and dad are making me go over to the church for the Autumn Festival."_

_"Well I hope you have fun."_

* * *

By the time Drew and Evelyn came through the front door, Derek had consumed three caramel apples, and was just about to pick up another, when they appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Look at him Drew." Evelyn said as she squeezed her husband's hand. "Look how healthy and handsome he looks."

"I can see him Evelyn honey, I'm standing right next to you."

"Honey, are you hungry? Would you like me to make you a peach cobbler? How about I have your dad go into town to get a gallon of vanilla ice cream?"

"I'm fine mom. I'm not really that hungry." Derek said. "I'm just glad to finally be home."

"How was your training sweetheart?" Evelyn spoke quickly before he could escape. "Did you suffer any headaches while you were there? I was so worried that you would be troubled by them."

"No mom, I was fine."

"Dear Lord Evelyn, please let the boy catch his breath before you smother him. Or at least give him a moment to get a word in."

"We thought you wouldn't be home until tomorrow night Derek. Why didn't you tell us your plans changed?"

"Because I don't want any fuss." Derek said as he headed for the doors leading out to the garden. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go for a walk around the neighborhood."

"What about Yvonne Derek? Did you let her know you were coming in?"

"I'll be back soon." Derek said as the sliding door closed behind him.

Leaving through the back gate, with his hands shoved in his pockets, and his head down, Derek kicked a stone along the pavement. Like a man without a destination he strolled out into the middle of the road and looked up and down the street. Rolling the stone back and forth with the toe of his boot, he soon realized that he was standing in the exact spot where he had shot Jasper Dalton in his high forehead almost nine years ago. An impish grin spread over his face as he thought what a bad ass he had been when he was a kid.

An hour later, with a small gift bag containing two caramel apples, Derek turned the corner onto Thicket Street, and stopped when he saw her in the open garage with her back to him. He searched the ground, found a stick, and immediately began to run it over the slats of Mr. Johnson's white washed picket fence to catch her attention.

She heard the familiar sound echoing out, and without turning around, she knew it was Derek. Holding back, Yvonne did not look his way, or acknowledge him, as she placed the bundle of Christmas lights that she had taken down into a large plastic tote. Snorting lightly, she was getting a kick out of the young man and his efforts at trying to reenact his courting days. Her shoulders began to shake and she put a hand over her mouth when she heard Mr. Johnson hollering out for Derek to stop making a racket.

"Derek Westbrook! You stop that runnin' that stick along my fence!" Mr. Johnson shouted from an upstairs window. "You go on now boy before I call your daddy on you!"

Derek shouted out an apology to the elderly man as he dropped the stick and sprinted across the road. "Vonnie!" He called out as he approached the Miller's driveway. "Vonnie, I know you heard me over there." He said while laughing over Mr. Johnson's threat to call his father.

"Did you come because you missed me Mr. Westbrook? Or are you here for something else?" She asked with her back still to him.

"I missed you Ms. Miller." He said as he put the bag on the crate and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "But I thought maybe if I buttered you up, the _something else_ might come later."

"Well it all depends on what's in the gift bag Derek."

"Are you still my girl?"

"Are you still my fella Private Westbrook?"

"Of course I am babe."

After he released her, she took him by the hand and led him around to the back porch, and away from the prying eyes of the nosy Mr. Johnson. They spent time catching up until the January air had made their ears cold and their fingers numb. Moving indoors, Yvonne made them a pot of tea, and they picked up where they left off.

"My superiors think I have what it takes to become a leader. If I get a waiver, I could be promoted early to private first class before the end of my first year. And then if all goes well, I could become a specialist in no time. My plan is to work towards getting into leadership training. How's that for a small town boy from Virginia?"

"I'm proud of you Derek."

After wagging their tongues for nearly three hours, they found they were all talked out. As they sat in the comfortable silence, Yvonne reached across the table and placed her hand over his.

"Derek, I know we haven't discussed the subject of intimacy, but...you've been waiting a long time...and so have I." She said as she patted his hand. "How long are we to wait? Since you've been gone, I...well I have thoughts about...you know."

"I'll wait as long as you need me to Vonnie."

"But that's my point. I'm getting restless Derek." She said. "It's not that I have sex on the brain, but there are nights when I think of you and find it hard to sleep."

"What are you saying Vonnie?"

"I'm saying, my mother is visiting with my Aunt Maxine in Pittsburgh...and Aunt Janice will not check on me until tomorrow."

Derek stammered and tripped over his own feet to get out the door. He ran home, and did not bother to stop and speak to his father as he headed straight for his bedroom. Tearing through his bureau, he searched high and low for his condom stash. Afraid that she would change her mind, Derek switched gears.

Taking the stairs two at a time he ran out the door. Jumping in his old beater, he crossed his fingers and turned the key in the ignition. The twenty year old Chevy pickup sputtered and coughed, as blue smoke farted out the tailpipe, covering the truck in a foggy cloud of toxic exhaust. Pulling out of the driveway with a destination in mind, Derek sped off to make it to the local CVS before it closed its doors.

To set the mood and give her room the proper atmosphere, she closed the curtains, lit candles, and rolled out the cabinet containing the vintage stereo system. The cabinet, with its smoked glass door was set on casters that rolled smoothly across the carpet. As she hauled the huge speakers out, Yvonne thanked her mother for being nostalgic.

Yvonne had listened to her mother Grace go over how she had been a regular at the National Record Mart. And from love of music, Yvonne's mother had acquired an extensive collection of albums and cassettes that only Yvonne could appreciate. Her older girls considered themselves too progressive for the archaic music technology, and so Grace crowned Yvonne the keeper of the vinyl.

Yvonne plugged the speakers encased in their veneer covered enclosures into the stereo receiver, and handling a disc as if it were a precious artifact, she put it on the turntable, and picked up the arm. When the needle hit the record, there wasn't so much as a crackle. The sultry voice of Etta James put the icing on the cake for Yvonne.

As Etta sang of wanting to spend time making love to a man that belonged to another woman, Yvonne imagined her mother blushing as she listened to what were clearly risque insinuations for back in the day. She swung her hips back and forth to the bluesy beat, and when the horns blasted through the speakers, she could feel them vibrate beneath her feet.

In all the years that he had visited the Miller household, Derek had never set foot in Yvonne's room, let alone been in her canopy bed. When he entered her room, and saw the bundle of clothing on the floor, and Yvonne already in bed he froze. But when she folded the coverlet down to rest just below her small breast as if issuing an invitation, it sent Derek straight for cloud nine.

The young soldier cursed as he fumbled with the laces of his boots. But after toeing them off, he did not waste any time getting naked, and even less to join her beneath the warm blankets. It must have been the mood of the room and music he thought, because when he pulled the bed covers back to get a good look, she did not bother to cover herself, but allowed her boyfriend to get an eyeful.

His eyes roamed over her, all the while taking mental snapshot for lonely nights. If anyone ever asked him to describe his love, the first thing that he would tell them was that Vonnie's complexion could only be compared to the color of the sweet covering on his favorite Halloween treat.

Although the mood was set and Yvonne felt a bit bold, when the petting, kissing, and stroking had gone as far as it could, she became nervous when it was time for him to enter her. She had never been privy to what Derek had below his waist, and as much as she wanted him, she could feel a certain amount of unease.

Sensing her hesitation, Derek spoke genuinely as he had years earlier when he had given her the locket. Nothing false, just words from his heart.

"I love you Vonnie." He said as he kissed her. "I will always love you, whether we do this or not, because you're my girl."

The following morning before the sun came up, Derek left Yvonne's bed. When he arrived back home, Evelyn was already up and in the kitchen drinking her first cup of coffee. When she looked over the rim of her mug at him, Derek felt exposed and lowered his eyes to avoid her stare.

"Derek, what have you been up to?"

Evelyn, her motherly wisdom making her suspicious, narrowed her eyes and watched as Derek avoided her gaze. When she tilted her head, he stepped back. Her mouth fell open as her eyes grew wide. "Oh my dear Lord."

"W-What!" Derek nearly squeaked as his voice went up a couple of octaves. "I haven't been up to anything."

"You had better hope Gracie Miller does not find out, because if she does, I will certainly give her permission to skin you alive."


	3. Chapter 2

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.**

While serving in the 192nd Infantry Brigade, Derek was not discouraged when he found out that he would not be promoted early. Although he was aware that it would push back his plans for leadership training, he turned the negative into a plus, and used that time to hone his skills. He felt that at twenty he was mature enough to have prepared himself for setbacks so that it would not create discouragement. Derek placed it on the back burner and instead volunteered for Airborne School where he earned his wings and added another patch of honor that he wore proudly.

And each month, as he waited patiently, his file continued to grow with various accomplishments, honors, and points. On his twenty-third birthday after five years in service, Corporal Derek Westbrook not only got the best present ever, but he also took a giant step forward towards his goal. The contract he had signed when recruited finally paid off. Derek was selected for Ranger School.

Not that he did not have bad days, or there were never days of humdrum, bullshit, or loneliness. He had only seen Yvonne a few times since the night that he spent with her, so Derek relied on his mental snapshots of his girl. Sometimes he revisited the night in her canopy bed just to help him over some of the rough spots. Even when he was bone tired and his eyes were crossed from exhaustion, he tried to have her on his mind before he fell off to sleep, and made her the first person he thought of when he opened his eyes in the morning. He began to refer to her as his reveille taps girl.

* * *

As he and the others were running through the dense forest on a mountain in Georgia, the early morning drizzle that fell from the dark skies was relentless, and had left the pine needles and leaves on the forest floor slick, making the hike in the dark slow moving. With over sixty pounds of gear on his back, Derek was suffering from a headache, and feeling off kilter, he repeatedly stumbled over his own feet.

Struggling to keep up, the corporal began to fall behind. He began to run to try and catch up, but it proved to be a foolish thing to do. Making a dash for a fallen tree that four other members had taken with ease, Derek was sure he could make the hurdle without a problem.

But when the rain slick tread of his right boot hit the bark and his foot slipped out from beneath him, both his shins connected with the trunk hard enough that he could feel the skin scrape away. His feet got tangled in the thick vines around the trunk, and he fell face first into a wet patch. The swampy water that filled his mouth and went down what his father called the _wrong pipe,_ made it feel as if he were drowning.

With his feet tangled in the vines and sticking comically up in the air, and his face in the stagnant pool of water, Derek felt his confidence plummet like a stone. Coughing and gurgling, he eventually threw up not only the water, but his breakfast as well. When two of his comrades came running past and suddenly pulled up short to get a good look, Derek wanted nothing more than to sink into the muck to hide his embarrassment.

When he saw the hulking figure of the big Texan, Sergeant Zeke Moore, Derek pulled and finally got his feet untangled from the trailing plants. But before he could rise up out of the water, Moore, his bush hat pulled down low over his protruding brow, bent over and pulling Derek up onto his feet hollered out for the others to keep moving.

Moore, his dark skinned face beaded with sweat, and his jaw set hard, put his hands on his hips and looking down at Derek, Moore shook his head like a disappointed father. When Derek heard the grinding of Sergeant Moore's teeth, he knew to brace himself for an ear chewing. And the sergeant did indeed let loose on him. The words flew out of his mouth like rapid gunfire, as the cloying odor of long chew tobacco and spittle hit Derek in the face.

"Corporal Westbrook! What seems to be your problem cowboy?" Sergeant Moore shouted as he circled the young man. "Would you like me to help your behind get over the obstacles in your way, or can I depend on you to get over them on your own?"

"Sir! No sir!" Derek said, as he wiped his face on his sleeve, and then snapped to attention.

"So you mean to tell me son, that you need my help?"

"Sir! No sir!" Derek said confused, his eyes going back and forth as he tried to think quickly. "I mean…I don't need your help sir!"

"Are you discombobulated Westbrook?"

"Sir. No sir. I am not discombobulated sir!"

Moore, circling Derek like a vulture over weak and dying prey, stopped in front of the Derek, and put his nose just inches from the corporal's. He could feel the young man's anxiety coming off of him in waves. They were the kind of vibes that any seasoned instructor could pick up on a young soldier. This was when he knew it was time to lower the flames a bit. He wasn't out to instill fear, or tear the young man down, Moore's job was to build him up, not to break his spirit.

"Do you know the definition of the word discombobulated Corporal Westbrook?"

"Yes sir! It means confused or disoriented sir!"

"Can you put the word in a sentence Westbrook so I can determine if you rattled your brains?"

"Um…I…um…the…"

"Did you hit your head on a rock boy and shake a screw loose?"

"No sir! I did not hit my head on a rock, sir!"

"Then what are rambling on for when you should be getting your ass in gear and out of this mosquito trap?"

"I'm getting in gear now, sir!"

"And here I had you pegged for a leader cowboy." Sergeant Moore said smirking as Derek took off up the trail. "I been bragging on you son, so you best not prove me wrong."

* * *

After taking a shower, Derek sat on the floor, and along with nursing his bruised ego, he attended to his bruised shins. Applying cool wet washcloths over his battered legs, he sat on the cold floor with his head resting against the wall. When Corporal Perez entered, Derek, put his head down, too ashamed to look him in the eye.

"Dude, get over it already." Perez said. "So what, you took a spill in the mud and got your ass reamed. Man you have got to cut yourself some slack."

"I felt like a little kid today." Derek said as he lifted his head to look Perez in the eye.

"Look at McCall. That dude fell every ten seconds, but you don't see his ass giving up. Man I wouldn't take you for a quitter. Dudes like you, me, McCall, and those that give it there all, we need to stick together." Perez said with a smile. "I plan on making the Rangers...that's my objective, has been all along. And I'll do it. Wait and see. And so will you, just hang in there man."

"Thanks Perez."

"You're welcome, my man. And um Westbrook... if I were you, I'd get my ass off of that cold floor before you end up _constipado_ dude."

* * *

After he earned the right to wear the Ranger badge and the tan beret, he hit the ground running and kept going until he was sporting three stripes, and getting set to lead his own squad. Now twenty-five and stationed at Fort Benning with the 75th Rangers, he was proud, but not yet satisfied, because he still had to reach his goal. But he was ready to make another big step forward, one that was more important to him than any military career objectives or achievements. The biggest move of his life would be for Derek to ask Yvonne Miller for her hand.

Because Yvonne was only three hours away at Fort Gordon, on a January morning in 2009 Derek was issued a weekend pass and showed up at the off-base apartment complex where Yvonne shared a cramped two bedroom with another specialist. He presented her with a bouquet of twelve yellow roses, a ring, and proposal.

She did not make him wait for an answer, because in her heart, Yvonne always knew the day would come. She did not need a fancy declaration of his love, or an extravagant nonsensical proposal. All she needed was her man in the doorway with a bouquet of roses in her favorite color, and a simple engagement ring. He could have shown up with a bunch of dandelions and a candy ring pop, and she would have without hesitation accepted.

"Of course I will marry you Derek. If we can get Pastor Greene to hold the day, I will marry you on June twelfth."

"Loving Day it is Vonnie. Whatever makes you happy, babe."

* * *

"Time sure is marching on Grace." Evelyn said from her seat at the antique sewing table. "Can you believe our babies are getting married?"

"I know Evelyn. Time waits for no one dear." Grace said, her voice solemn as she looked over at the gown on the dressmaker's dummy. "That gown has been displayed on the altar three times, starting with my grandmother Sarah."

"It is absolutely gorgeous Gracie. Yvonne will make a beautiful bride."

"She had better get her behind home so we can make the final adjustments on the gown." Grace said. "That girl is enough to work my nerves over this wedding."

"It seems like it was just yesterday, that Derek was ripping and running through my garden with his face covered in dirt. My how time just got away from us."

"That's because we're going down the other side of the mountain girl." Grace laughed. "But we look good for our ages Evelyn. We can still turn a head or two."

* * *

Unlike Derek, Yvonne was more than happy to shed the skin of being a soldier, and although she was in a hurry to get on the road, she was determined to get out of her military garb. After leaving the base she stopped at the apartment, where she change into a tee and jeans, ran a brush over her short wavy hair, grabbed her bags, and locked the door behind her.

Yvonne shoved her bags into the back of the car and closed the hatch. She couldn't get away from Fort Gordon quick enough. The old Ford Taurus station wagon with the Go Army sticker across the rear window, and one on the bumper letting others know that she loves her Army Ranger was her tried and true transportation.

The car that Yvonne named Bonnie, had more than her share of erosion and rust around the bottom of the doors, and her end sat lower than a fat bottomed girl. And even though Bonnie shimmied like a stripper, she was still dependable and had excellent gas mileage.

The older model car had a radio with dials and a cassette player, but Yvonne was fine with that. As long as Bonnie got her from point A to point B safely, then Yvonne was satisfied. She did however line up an assortment of cassettes on the passenger seat so that she would have over eight hours of tunes to carry her from Georgia to Virginia.

After working a twelve hour shift, Yvonne was beat, but was determined to make it home without killing herself by falling asleep behind the wheel. So she made a pit stop at a gas station, where she filled up, purchased three energy drinks and a bag of crunchy barbequed pork rinds. Munching on her snack and sipping on her green apple beverage, Yvonne put the window down to get some fresh air, and hit the highway.

Hours later as Specialist Yvonne Miller was bopping her way up Interstate 95 with thoughts of wedding bells, from Fort Benning, Sergeant Derek Westbrook was just preparing to hit the road. Tossing the garment bag carelessly into the cab of his vehicle, Derek got behind the wheel. After the old Cheyenne died, Derek, keeping with the Westbrook tradition of only driving Chevrolet, purchased another used truck. This one unlike his first, which had been more primer than paint, was at least reliable.

There were no rebel flags, or NRA decals, but he did have one that clearly made a point. Above a large Ranger decal on the tinted rear window was a movie quote. In bold white lettering, the words "I'M A LEAD FARMER MOTHERFUCKER!" could be seen from up and down the street. For the neighbors who did not know him, they just assumed that the sergeant was a gun toting redneck soldier, and left him be. And Derek was more than fine with that.

Mumbling to himself, Derek climbed behind the wheel and sat with the leather key fob in his hand. "What did she tell me not to forget?" He asked himself. "My uniform, got it. My beret. Damn!"

He ran back into the house, which he shared with two Ranger buddies, and quickly picked up his tan beret. Derek did not sweat over much, but he did when it was over something that concerned Yvonne. She was far from a bitch or shrew, and was still as sweet as butter from the creamery, but she could cut her eyes in a way that could make him clam up like a constipated senior citizen.


	4. Chapter 3

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare belong to Activision / Infinity Ward**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.**

From the dark, wavy hair much like her father's people, who had been as Louisiana Creole as they come, to the almond-shaped eyes of hazel, and complexion of her mother, the bride-to-be smiled in gratitude for her parents joined contributions. Taking inventory of her looks was not due to vanity, because being too full of self was not how the young woman from a small Virginia town had been raised. Yvonne was just looking at her mirrored reflection, to see if she could find the little knocked-kneed girl who had been called the ugly duckling by her grade school classmates.

Fiddling with the small tarnished locket around her neck, Yvonne was thankful that she had remained humble enough to appreciate the small things. And she was thankful to have Derek, the young man, who after fifteen years, could still make her smile. She truly believed in absence making the heart grow fonder, because when Derek arrived in Virginia the previous evening, and she saw her man, Yvonne felt a swelling in her heart, and a pull in her nether regions.

"Baby Sis, is it too hot in here for you honey?" Her mother asked as she handed Yvonne a handkerchief. "I understand if you're feeling flustered. I remember being nervous on my big day. Wipe your face while I go get you a cold drink of water."

As she gently dabbed the hanky along her cheeks, Yvonne was tickled over her mother misinterpreting her sudden glow for wedding jitters. Standing up in the Lord's house, sweaty and distracted while her mother was off and running for a glass of water, Yvonne wondered if she could convince Derek to hike down into the woods to revisit their old stomping grounds before leaving Virginia.

When Grace returned, she found her daughter with a church fan in her hand, slowly fanning herself with _the look_ in her eyes. It was then that she caught on that Yvonne wasn't bothered by the room temperature, but rather something that would take more than a glass of ice water to cool her off.

"Mom, do you think I should call over to the house to see if he picked up his uniform?"

"Be still Yvonne while I adjust the veil honey." Grace said, as she playfully patted her daughter on the behind to still her. "You got to relax sweetheart. You know very well Yvonne that Derek is not a fool, so stop your fretting."

"I wonder if he even remembered to take his uniform to the dry-cleaners."

"Honey, believe me…you know Evelyn Westbrook is on the ball." Grace said with a chuckle. "She won't allow Derek to miss a beat."

"You sure make for a beautiful bride Yvonne." Grace said as she gently pushed the veil back from Yvonne's face. "I sure wish your daddy was still with us so that he could walk you down the aisle, sugar."

Yvonne saw the sadness in her mother's eyes, as Grace was caught in a moment of remembering how the only man that she had ever loved, was taken from her and the girls when he died unexpectedly from a heart attack when Yvonne was just ten years old.

* * *

Sergeant Derek Westbrook, going for a mirror shine, worked the soft buffing cloth over the shoe. While most young men his age would be sweating as the minutes to losing their freedom ticked away, Derek remained calm and collected. When he heard the disc jockey in his smooth baritone announce a dedication, he slowly put the shoe and cloth down on the bed.

_"I got a request from Ray whose nephew is gettin' hitched today, and he wants to send a shout out to the young couple. Good Luck to Derek and Yvonne from Uncle Ray, and all of us here at 106.9 WAFX, the home of Classic Rock. And for Derek and Yvonne, here is Van Morrison singing, Crazy Love."  
_

When the song began, the sergeant jumped up and reached over to the windowsill and turned up the volume on the old radio. With Yvonne on his mind, and in a voice that only a mother could love, he belted out the song with such intensity that from the backyard the Westbrook's hunting dogs Frank and Jesse began to howl. When Derek heard his father's voice bellow up the stairs for him to stop his caterwauling, Derek, closing his eyes and rocking like Ray Charles, sang even louder.

"She gives me love, love, love, love, crazy love!"

"Goddammit Evelyn! Please go up and tell that boy to stop all that noise! He sounds like he's in pain."

"He's just full of joy honey, so leave him be." Evelyn said as she headed for the stairs.

The twenty-five year old had come a long way from being the youngster that she had affectionately nicknamed Scamp. More times than she cared to remember, she had chased her youngest child from her garden with a maple switch as he would run across her neatly manicured lawn, crushing the prized flowers that stood in his path as he sought out to destroy imaginary enemy soldiers.

As the song ended, Derek turned down the volume, and went back to polishing. He looked up to see Evelyn in the doorway. "I was really jamming there mom. Did you noticed Jesse and Frank backing me up? That's how good I am."

"My goodness Derek, there will be no shoe leather left if you keep at it like that." Evelyn clicked her tongue and leaned against the door frame. "Honey you're getting married, not getting gussied up for an inspection." She said. "By the way, your uniform is in the garment bag hanging on the back of my bedroom door. And hurry it up, because your father and brothers are already dressed and will be heading over to the church in a minute."

"Why aren't you over at the church?" He asked. "You don't have to linger, I'm capable of getting myself dressed mom."

"I'll have you know son, _we_ girls concluded that you need help to keep you from ruining this day for us."

"I take it that when you say_ us_, you're referring to you and Vonnie's mother. Remember mom, you and Mrs. Miller have both had your day, so this one belongs to Vonnie."

"Fine if you say so, then I'll take my unwanted self over to the church where I'll be appreciated."

* * *

Yvonne tried her best not to bristle as Aunt Adele, Grace's youngest and rather rotten sister, tried to force her niece into removing the necklace. Yvonne could almost hear the harsh words forming in her mind, and before they could hit her tongue and spill from her mouth, she bit into her cheek.

"Baby Sis, you need to remove that shabby locket now."

"Hush Adele." Grace scolded. "Just hush up now. The locket stays."

"But Gracie, look at it! Please tell her to take tha-"

"I said hush. This is her wedding, and you best remember that."

* * *

When he saw his girl coming down the center aisle on the arm of her Uncle Mack, Derek never felt so proud. When they reached the altar, Derek took her hand and everyone and everything beyond her veiled face, disappeared. He had thought that he had moved on from being the sentimental little boy from long ago. But when he saw the tarnished locket around her neck, Derek suddenly saw the little girl from that Independence day in 1994, who had giggled and kissed him on the cheek. The soldier, could barely swallow around the lump in his throat, as he blinked back tears.

"What a blessed day this is." Pastor Greene bellowed to the rafters. "Not only for the joining of these two beautiful children of God, but for the day in which they were wed. June twelfth is a day of celebration for those who find love beyond the boundaries of race." Pastor Greene spoke with passion. "Let us all remember that it is not what covers us, but what is within us. God bless."

The wedding, although a simple affair, was beautiful, and the down home but tastefully done reception was the best. The proprietor of Ray's Smoke House, who also happened to be Derek's uncle, received many compliments from the guests who had never eaten fresh collard greens, or cornbread made from scratch.

Yvonne spied Aunt Adele, who fancied herself to be a lady, rocking her head to the music, as she licked her fingers clean of the tangy bourbon flavored barbecue sauce. The bride nudged Derek and chuckled lightly as she pointed out her bourgeois sister Candace, who inhaled two slices of Ray's sweet potato pie like a Hoover.

"When alcohol flows so freely, it usually leads to trouble." Derek said nervously. "I don't like the way my Aunt Jude is swinging around that vodka tonic in my Uncle Ray's face."

"Are you serious? Have you noticed the flow of wine at my aunts table?" Yvonne whispered as she nodded towards the table covered in wine bottles and empty stemware. "My aunt Maxine has been known to drink sailors under the table."

Derek chewed on his bottom lip, and listening to Yvonne prattle on, he never took his eyes off of his aunt. The tall, thin woman with her finely coiffed hair, heavy silver jewelry, and little black Ann Taylor dress was on her way to tipsy. Her graveled voice was low, but he could read her deeply tanned and creased face enough to know that his Aunt Jude was not very pleased with her brother Raphael.

"You sure did lay it out Ray." Jude said. "How come you didn't do this for my Holly Jean when she got hitched?"

"I do as I please, sister Jude,"Ray said. "And stop swinging that damn drink in my face."

"The bride's mama and aunts aren't exactly poor folk, as a matter of fact, they all do quite well. I'm sure Grace is collecting on her dead husband's pension. So answer me brother, are they paying you for this shindig?"

"That's mighty bold of you to be asking Jude." Ray said as he crushed his cigarette out on a plate. "It's really none of your business. But I will tell you this, Derek is a good kid, always has been. While your Holly Jean was being spoiled to death and running around with her nose up in the air, Derek and his brothers worked with their father every day after school to earn their way. Now look at your girl. Holly Jean is a shiftless lazy ass who lives over in meth valley with her no good man and those two bad ass grand-babies of yours. Derek and Yvonne are a couple of struggling soldiers who are just trying to make their way."

"Well, now if we're going to be telling the truth about how it is Raphael Westbrook...how are you going to feel when they start making them mud babies?"

"You are truly as ignorant as the day you were born Jude, and I'm stone embarrassed by you. I suggest you get a move on sister, before I forget that we're family."

"It's bad enough he's marrying outside his own, what in the hell will Evelyn do when he brings her a mulatto grandbaby?" Jude said with her mouth twisted. "Some little half white baby that will catch hell all his life."

"What decade are you living in Jude?" Ray said. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Maybe it's time I showed your ass the way up out of here."

"I'm gone like the wind, Raphael." Jude said as she turned her back on him and headed for the exit. "But remember who your family is when the shit hits the fan, brother."

* * *

At a table near the bar, sat Adele and three older women. The attractive trio were all dressed to the nines, and sipping wine as they talked quietly amongst themselves. For the guests who knew Grace's older sisters, the women were southern belles, with a pinch of diva thrown in.

"That boy is so in love with Baby Sis. "Shirley said. "And he sure did sprout up to be a handsome devil."

"Remember when he shot them two bad ass boys when they accosted her?" Janice said. "Them two little bastards never fucked with her again."

"I heard one got shot and killed while robbing a Virginia Commerce, and the other is locked up and serving time for murdering their mama. Supposedly he hit her over the head with a frozen turkey the night before Thanksgiving three years ago." Maxine whispered across the table. "Them Dalton's were always bad news."

"Oh Lord, Gracie and Joe were fit to be tied when Derek brought her home." Shirley said. "And when he started to court her. How cute was that?"

"Hell, those two have been together now for fifteen years. Shit...my marriage to Leroy only lasted five." Maxine said before tipping back the wine glass to drain it dry. "From puppy love to marriage. God love them."

"You have never lied Shirley, that boy sure did grow up to be real looker." Janice said. "All of the Westbrook boys are easy on the eyes."

"He's alright for a country boy from Virginia." Adele interjected sourly without looking up from the napkin she was shredding. "A white boy from Virginia at that."

"Watch your mouth Adele. You know I got a thing for my boys below the Mason-Dixon. And who cares about what color he is? Fine is always good when it blooms from the inside out." Maxine said. "Janice, who does he favor again? I keep forgetting his damn name." She snapped her fingers for emphasis. "You know...that nice looking fella from that movie a while back with all the soldiers over in Africa."

"Oh you mean Josh Hamilton! No that's not it." Janice said. "Lord I hate it when my mind fails me."

Adele, after drinking two bottles of Merlot was clearly wobbly and tanked. Still plagued by being slighted by Grace over the locket, she was now leaning towards ugly drunk. Her sophisticated demeanor was flung to the side as she leaned across the table and shot daggers at each of her sisters. With her faced pinched as if she smelled something bad on the bottom of her shoe, Adele opened up on her older siblings with both barrels.

"Listen to me you crazy old cows! We have had this conversation before and this is the last time! The motherfucker's name is Josh Hartnett! Josh motherfucking Hartnett! That is who Yvonne's husband favors! And if you menopausal, old as Methuselah, forgetful ass bitches ask one more time who that boy looks like, I am going to break my foot off in each and every one of your elderly asses!"

When heads turned in the direction of the commotion, Maxine, her eyes lit with fire, and her lips drawn in, reached beneath the table cloth and pinched Adele's thigh, twisting her fingers hard enough that her well manicured nails broke the skin. Adele, her mouth open as if she were about to protest, suddenly clamped it shut when Maxine issued a threat.

"Now you listen to me you green eyed monster, don't you say another ugly word Adele Crystal Jones," Maxine said. "Do not so much as make a peep, or I might forget that our daddy was a preacher, and whoop your ass in front of company."

* * *

"I apologize for my Aunt Adele. My mother said that at the age of sixteen my auntie adopted a jealous heart." Yvonne sighed.

"Never apologize for family babe."Derek said. "From what Uncle Ray told me, my Aunt Jude didn't exactly appear as a saint today."

"I hope you're not too disappointed that we couldn't go on a honeymoon Vonnie." Derek said. "I promise you that I will make it up to you. And I love you for not making noise about staying with my parents tonight."

"I could care less about going on a honeymoon. I travel enough to parts unknown." She said removing her undergarments."And I would much rather wake up in your childhood room with you, than to wake up beside you in some strange bed." She tugged her nightgown over her head and smoothed it down over her hips.

When she pulled back the corner of the bed cover to get into bed, Derek stopped her. "Would you mind not sleeping in that tonight Vonnie?"

"Sergeant Westbrook, are you naked up under them covers?" She asked him playfully. "Don't start something you can't finish mister."

"You know me better than that." He said on the sly, as he pulled the blanket back in invitation. "I don't even leave food on my plate."

After making love, Derek fell off to sleep in no time, leaving Yvonne alone and feeling restless. Turning to her side with her back to him, she stared off at the far wall. With help from the light of the full moon, she could see their bags stacked neatly by the door. Like so many others soldiers, they lived a life on the go.

Lives easily shoved and stuffed into canvas bags that they hauled from year to year from one place to the next like hobos. Nothing permanent, just temporary places that no matter how many Burger Kings and Taco Bells, or even movie theaters a base had, it never felt like home to her.

She couldn't stand to think about it anymore, because it made her mind wander into thoughts of regret over joining up in the first place. Not that she didn't love her job as an Intel analyst, but after two years the shine had worn off, and she was becoming disenchanted with the military. Turning back to face her sleeping husband, she noticed how his body was so relaxed and his face was peaceful. Watching him sleep without a care, she suddenly felt a pang of jealousy.

She knew he slept without worry, because Derek was doing what he had set out to do with his life. At twenty-five, he was well on his way to playing with the big boys, and although she was an integral part of the intelligence community, no one really gave a crap. As far as the gung-ho were concerned, she was not a soldier, just a computer geek in a uniform.

She nudged him and mumbled. "I thought you would be impressed. That's what I get for being young and stupid." She said as she nudged him again. "I should have gone off to college, instead of traipsing around trying to impress you."

"I love you Vonnie. You never had to impress me." Derek croaked out, and rolled away from her. "I never asked you to walk behind me. I have never stood in your light, and you know that. I'm really tired honey, so please just go to sleep, babe."

When his honesty shut her down, her own ugly words left a bad taste in her mouth, reminding her of Adele. Yvonne whispered to her sleeping husband her apology, and eventually drifted off to sleep. Waking two hours later with her head on his shoulder, his naked skin warm against hers, Yvonne felt a bit frisky, but she did not disturb him.

Instead, that restless feeling grabbed hold of her again until her eyes once more were drawn back to the luggage. She remained awake, her mind filled with overlapping thoughts, until the moonlight had passed on along with the time. A little after five, she got up from bed, dressed quietly, and left the room. The ticking of the large Grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer, and the early birds were the only sounds of the morning as she padded into the kitchen.

Knowing her in-laws house as if it was her own, Yvonne put on a pot of coffee, greeted Mr. Oreo, the Westbrook's plump diabetic cat, and went out the sliding patio door that led out into the garden. The fragrance of the Coral Honeysuckle hanging from the back fence and trestle over the gate brought back memories for her. For Yvonne, her mother-in-law's garden was a place filled with childhood nostalgia, and if the young woman could, she would never leave it, or for that matter, never leave the state of Virginia.

Stepping off of the back porch, the dew covered grass forced Yvonne to pull the long nightgown up to save the hem from getting soaked. Following the rows of newly planted geranium beds until she came upon the intricately painted stepping-stones, Yvonne stayed on the path until she reached the swing hanging from the Red Maple.

After the sun had burned off the morning mist, and the flowers that were touched by the rays opened up, Yvonne found her tranquil spot invaded as Derek, with his coffee mug in hand, came out of the sliding door, and stepped off the porch.

"So, are you ready to hit the road Mrs. Westbrook?"

"The soldier in me says to get a move on…but the girl in me says to stay put in this garden."

"So I take it that you're ready?" Derek asked as he stepped behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"As ready as I'll ever be. I guess we should both hit the road soon, because as you know our boss Uncle Sam does not take kindly to his employees running late."


	5. Chapter 4

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.**

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to Yvonne stressing her concerns over the news of his deployment.

"Vonnie, don't worry, I'll be fine."

"When will you be leaving Derek?"

"Soon." Derek said. "But it will be a short deployment, no longer than six months honey."

"Dear God." She said.

"Vonnie, you know how it goes. It is what it is."

Will I get to see you before you leave the states?"

"Of course you will honey. You know that I can't leave the states without seeing my girl."

* * *

Holding her hand and trying his best not to show how bored he was, Derek stifled a yawn, as Yvonne excitedly pulled him through the Augusta Museum of History. From one exhibition to the next, she gave him a quick history lesson, which he nodded and tried his best to show interest. He would have rather been snuggled up with her, and watching a good old fashioned Italian Western. Or better yet, making love to her until they would both fall off to sleep.

There was not one word mumbled in complaint when he looked at the prices on the menu at the restaurant that she had chosen, and he did not scowl like a Christmas Grinch over the price tag on the sunglasses that she had picked out for him at the mall.

"These not only have a high UV protection, but I think they will also look sharp on you Derek." Yvonne said as she placed them over his eyes. Suddenly feigning shock, she poked fun. "My, my Sergeant Westbrook, my aunties were so right, you are movie star handsome."

"That's enough Vonnie." Derek said embarrassed, as he looked around, and quickly removed the sunglasses. "Stop saying that I look like some Hollywood pretty boy."

In return for her husband going out of his way, and for making their time together special, Yvonne did not worry him with her fears. She did not want him going off to the Middle East with a heavy heart, and so she kept her despair hidden. The young wife kept it inside until her husband was on the road back to Fort Benning.

She had not cried so hard and with so much sorrow since the passing of her father. By the time she was done, Yvonne was worn ragged. Before falling off to sleep, she could hear Derek's voice, reminding her that _it is what it is. _She knew that there was no room for understanding with Uncle Sam as your boss, and so the following morning, she put on her uniform, shouldered her laptop case, and went off to work.

* * *

"I wouldn't mind driving you back to Fort Benning son."

"I've already rented a car dad, but thanks for the offer."

"I know you're going to miss your truck son."

"Yeah, I sure am." Derek said, as he pulled the bright blue tarp up over the hood. "Thanks for letting me store it and all my junk here dad."

"You know that's not a problem son." Drew said.

"There's no need in me keeping a place off base, plus it will be cheaper."

Derek knew his father Andrew Westbrook was not a man of many words, and instead showed his love by providing for his family. Derek and his brothers never held it against him, because deep down, they always knew how proud he was of his boys. But when his father pulled him into a tight embrace, Derek was shocked.

"I know I don't tell you and your brothers as much as I should, but I love each and everyone of you, down to the bottom of my heart."

"We know dad." Derek said. "We love you too."

"When bullets start flying, you keep your damn head down Derek."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Buzzing around the kitchen, Evelyn stopped long enough to snap the lids on the large Tupperware containers on the kitchen island. Tightly sealed inside one of the plastic bins were two dozen homemade brownies, and in the other a dozen caramel apples. When she looked up to see Derek in the doorway, her emotions betrayed her, and her vision became cloudy.

"You share these apples and the brownies with your buddies, and don't be stingy with them Sca-." Evelyn caught herself, and chuckled nervously. "I mean, Derek."

Derek went to his mother, and wiped a smudge of flour from her cheek. "I love you mom." He kissed her, stepped back, and picked up the containers. "And don't worry about me."

Evelyn did not want to let him go. She placed her hands on either side of his face, and brushing her thumbs along his cheeks, Evelyn stared lovingly into her son's eyes. "You get back here so that you and Yvonne can get busy making a beautiful baby for me to fuss over."

When Raphael poked his head around the doorway, Evelyn startled, and releasing her son, she quickly pressed the tips of her fingers to her bloodshot eyes, to clear the fog from them.

"When you get a moment nephew, I need to have a little one on one with you before you leave town. Stop by the house when you got a minute." Ray winked at Evelyn. "Hey sister Evelyn, don't fret, your boy Scamp will be back home to us in no time."

* * *

When Derek pulled up in front of his uncle's house, he could see the older Westbrook sitting in the open garage in his favorite chair with a beer in his hand. As he approached the garage, Derek could smell engine oil, WD-40, and other odors associated with years of automobile parts that had been collected, and stored in the old detached garage set back from the large Victorian style house.

The sixty-three year old waved his beer in the air in greeting, as Derek stepped into the garage. Ray, with his gray hair brushing the collar of his chambray shirt, his ruggedly handsome face lined with years of rough living written all over it, never seemed to age in Derek's eyes. Tinted yellow from years of cigarette smoke, Ray's mustache was so thick that his bottom lip was barely visible. When the older man smiled, Derek saw the Westbrook genes that ran deep. In that smile, Derek not only saw his father, but his brothers and himself in the face of his favorite uncle.

Derek could remember spending many weekends mowing the spacious lawn and helping his uncle work on an old 56 Chevy, that now sat shot through with weeds and up on blocks, behind the garage. When his eyes fell on the rusted garden tools in the corner, he thought of his Auntie Lihn. The small framed, but no nonsense Auntie Lihn, who would stuff him with homemade delicacies from her homeland of South Vietnam, had been gone for close to five years. Her death, due to complications from breast cancer broke his uncle's heart.

"Grab a cold one nephew, and pull up a seat."

Derek grabbed a wooden folding chair from the wall, sat down and reached into the cooler for an ice cold beer. As if he had read Derek's mind, Ray brought up his late wife.

"Remember when Auntie Lihn would fill you up on snacks before sending you home to your mama with a belly ache, because you didn't know when to quit eating?"

"Oh man could Aunt Lihn cook." Derek said and smiled fondly in memory of his uncle's late wife. "Those coconut candies and her banana cakes. I sure miss her Uncle Ray."

"You have no idea son. Sometimes I can still see her in that wide brim straw hat working out back in her vegetable garden."

"Remember how she'd cuss you out in Vietnamese, and wouldn't miss a beat picking her tomatoes?"

"Man she was my world." Ray said. "Without her, I spend my days working at the restaurant, drinking beer, and tinkering in this here garage."

"Is this what you wanted to talk to me about Uncle Ray? You wanted to remind me of Auntie Lihn?"

"Nah...well maybe. But also I want you to take a few things with you to carry in your heart and mind, son."

"You know I love you Derek, and you mean the world to me. So please do me a solid. I want you to try your best to come back home to us in one piece. And I just don't mean in the physical sense, but in the mental as well." Ray tapped the side of his head with his finger before continuing. "And don't come back to us in no damn box, because your mama and your wife won't be able to take it. Do you hear me?"

"Yes sir."

"And I want you to always remember Derek, too never become too full of yourself son, but always project confidence, even when shit is not going your way. Respect yourself and those around you, because if you respect others they will follow you to hell and back."

The older Westbrook pulled out a crumpled pack of Pall Mall non-filtered and lit up. The tired old plaid recliner, with its seat sagging, and the armrest covered in strips of duct tape, squeaked and moaned when Ray scooted to the edge. His face now set in stone as he got downright serious.

"Now this next bit of wisdom is one you may not agree with, but it's one I live by. Never stand in awe of any man. Unless his ass can walk on water and raise the dead…he's just a man. Got it nephew?"

"Absolutely Uncle Ray."

"My ole grand-pap taught me that if you don't listen to those who are wiser and mean you well, you'll end up a lost ball in the high weeds." He said with a deep chuckle. "You ever lose a baseball and not find that damn thing until the following spring? It's all torn up and looking raggedy." He said. "Don't let that happen to you Derek. You're a good kid, always have been. You've got a little grit in you."

"You know your daddy don't like to talk too much about our upbringing, but we came from dirt poor folks, and we barely had a pot to piss in when we was growing up. Our daddy, your grand-pappy, was a no good son of a bitch, but our mama, God rest her humble soul, was the salt of the earth. They were never married, and because our old man didn't give a fuck, our mama gave us her name. So for me, there is no shame in being born a bastard, because I'm a Westbrook through and through."

"I don't know if Drew ever told you how she worked her fingers to the bone until they were crooked and swollen with arthritis. She washed and hung sheets for well to do women. Them haughty motherfuckers lived high on the hog, but not so much as gave her enough to feed us. She would wash them highfalutin bitches toilets and cook their brats meals, while her own was hungry as wolves. But she kept her head up, and never put her eyes on the floor when in their presence."

"Dad never told us."

"Well I am, because I want you to know that you come from good stock. Don't let no man, woman, or child look down their nose at you. I don't give a fuck how educated they may be, or if their pockets overflow with cash, no one can make you feel bad about yourself but you."

"Not in this lifetime sir."

"Alright son. Moving on now. I'm going to tell you something that I've never told anyone about, not even my mama. It's between us, because you and I share a bond nephew."

"Yes sir, we do Uncle Ray."

"I never had any intentions on joining the military, I was too much of a free spirit, and incorrigible as hell. I thought if they ever tried to draft me for Vietnam, I would take off to Canada. One day, hungry as hell, I walked into a recruitment office, because I heard the recruiters would try to sweeten up new guys by taking them out for a meal. I sure thought I was a slick one, way back then. If my mama had ever found out that I was running a quick one, she would have whooped my ass down to the meat and bone."

"Oh man, I ate like a king that day. I even wrapped up the bread and took it home to share with your daddy and Auntie Jude. So as it turns out, I went back the next day, hoping I could shuck and jive another meal out of this dude. Without so much as a bit of suspicion, the recruiter took me out again, never trying to sell me on the army, but just to talk about things. When I knew this fella had taken a genuine interest in me, I started to ask questions."

"Before I knew it, I volunteered to sign up, and in no time, I was on a bus bound for South Carolina. That was a long time ago. And I called that recruiter at least once a month up until he passed away two years ago. If it wasn't for Sergeant Michael Slater, instead of becoming a bad ass Ranger, I would have most likely become one of them torn up raggedy ass balls."

Ray bank shot the empty bottle off a box where it landed in a plastic tub. Giving Derek the 'did you see that shit' look, he laughed as he lit another smoke. "I got one more pearl of wisdom for you, and then I'll let you go. Plus I got me a date with a widow over in the next town, and she likes to put out, so Raphael Westbrook needs to have time to shit, shave, and bathe."

"If you ever meet a man who takes you under his wing, and he don't want you putting him up on no pedestal, you keep your damn ears and eyes open, and your trap shut when he speaks. That man will be the one that if he asked you to follow him to Hell, you'll ask him to step aside and let you go first. Got me?"

"Yes sir."

"What's our motto boy?" Ray asked as he tapped the faded tattoo on the inside of his forearm, representing the 3rd Battalion. "Say it like you mean it."

"Rangers lead the way!" Derek shouted out with pride.

"Damn straight!"

* * *

When the 3rd Battalion touched down in the Uruzgan Province in Afghanistan, for the 75th Rangers, it was like stepping onto another planet. The heat alone took Derek's breath away. "Dry to the bone." Derek spoke to no one in particular as his eyes scanned over the base.


	6. Chapter 5

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.**

**AN: I apologize, but I took some liberties with the geography of Afghanistan. This chapter is so far from romance, but I have to stray away from it just to give some background on Derek before he became 'Frost.' I assume he wasn't an American badass who started off as a gung-ho fella. lol  
**

**Thank you for reading. **

With his fingers hooked through the metal links of the fence, Derek looked out over the desert to try and spot greenery beyond the dry, dusty expanse of the arid plain. Through the haze of rising heat waves, he finally caught sight of a farm. In the distance, waving in the hot breeze at the bottom of the foothills at the base of a mountain range, was a field of wheat.

"Westbrook, I hope you're wearing sunblock."

A female voice came from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Specialist Jocelyn Wickes smiling like an imp. When she came up alongside of him, Derek had to look down to meet her shade covered eyes.

"What are you doing out here staring off like my grandpa?" Jocelyn laughed.

"I've been here for over three months Jocelyn, and I've never noticed those wheat fields." Derek said as he gestured with a nod towards the mountains.

The five foot two Wickes, tucking the windblown strands of her auburn hair behind her ears, nodded her head thoughtfully in understanding. Because she too, had stared out through the links of the perimeter fence on many occasions to see if there was anything in the geography that resembled her home.

"You'll only grow homesick." She said, placing her hand gently on his arm. "How about we go in search of some water?" She asked as she moved her hand from his arm. "And I don't mean from that pile of hot shit that they leave on the pallets out in the sun."

Derek smiled weakly, but released the fence. He knew she was right, and when she turned and began walking away, he fell into step beside her.

At twenty-four, the short stature, cute as button soldier, was on her second tour of duty in Afghanistan. With her short bob cut, freckled face, and braces, Jocelyn Wickes could pass for a teen girl no older than seventeen. But the soldier, a proud member of the 18th Military Police Brigade, along with her partner Sparky, walked the same dangerous roads as the men she and her unit protected.

The West Virginia native, who considered herself a coal miner's daughter first, and a soldier second, bumped her hip against Derek's leg to bring him around. Being the only girl in a family of twelve, Jocelyn, no doubt, had a clear understanding of men. She had no trouble befriending the like minded sergeant, who shared her passion for hunting, fishing, and simple living.

"How are things back home in the world?"

"I was just informed that my Uncle Raphael passed away." Derek said. "And naturally I was denied an emergency leave to go home to attend his funeral."

"Sorry to hear that, Derek."

"It is what it is, Joce." Derek chuckled. "If anyone understood that...it was my uncle."

"So that's what the chin on the ground look is for. I should have known it was more than a touch of homesickness. You have my deepest condolences hun."

"Thanks Jocelyn." Derek said. "My uncle was a good guy, and I am surely going to miss him."

"Hey Derek, how about you let a friend treat you to some homemade snicker doodle cookies?" Jocelyn asked. "Mama Wickes put some in my care package."

* * *

The sun beat down on the open and dangerous road in the Shah Wali Kowt district, making the already scorching temperature, feel ten degrees higher. Coupled with the stress of trying to avoid any danger or threat, the nerves of most of the over heated soldiers traveling along the main Uruzgan artery were tight and tense. It was slow going along the long stretch peppered with craters, fissures, and crudely patched pot holes. The road that some called a death trap was a soldier's nightmare. Caution went up, when they passed the stranded and ravaged armored vehicles left by allied Dutch forces from a previous ambush.

Escorting the 3rd Battalion up the trail notoriously known for IED's, the K-9 unit exited their vehicles and began to do what they do best. Walking alongside the convoy of rumbling and idling military vehicles, Jocelyn, clearing the fine powdery dust from her goggles, coughed lightly before communicating with the other handler, Specialist Brandon Lyndon.

"Lyndon, if you and Cyrus are good to go, Sparky and I will move ahead."

"Copy that."

Wickes and her canine partner had done two tours together, and they fit like a hand to glove. So tight was the handler's relationship with her partner, that she could catch the vibes through the leash. And no matter how many times she and Sparky had performed their duty, there was always that feeling of fear in the pit of her stomach. From the outside, Jocelyn showed no signs of fear, but inside, there was always an underlying dread that it could be her last mission. As she passed the vehicle that Derek was in, she gave him a thumbs up, before continuing on.

When Sparky had gotten within 15 meters of an abandoned Bushmaster, he stopped and looked back at her. The specialist could feel the sweat going down her back when Sparky turned away from her, sniffed at the ground, and immediately sat down. Wickes heart pounded in her ears, and it pained her to swallow, as her throat, full of pins and needles, felt drier than the road she stood on. Before she could take a step back, or inform Captain Brewer of the danger, it was too late.

Sitting in the backseat of a Humvee, Captain Brewer turned to chastise Derek for removing his headgear. As the sergeant was making a comment about his head being hard as a brick, the vehicle was rocked by the explosion. Before he could get his helmet back on, another one went off beneath the vehicle in front of them, tossing it into the air. The armored vehicle landed on its side in a mangled heap, the black smoke rolling and flames licking from inside out.

The remote detonation was just a prelude to an ambush, as small weapons fire echoed out from a few isolated huts set just a little over 50 meters off the road. The only survivor, Corporal Tyrone Miller, who had been manning the M240 machine gun on the vehicle ahead of them, had been thrown onto the road, where he lay moaning in a massive pool of his own blood. Both of his legs had been blown off up to mid thigh, the bottom halves left behind in the destroyed Humvee.

When the roadside bomb was detonated, Captain Brewer had sat back just in time as a rectangular chunk of metal the size of a wallet, shot through the open window.

Derek's head slammed against the side of the vehicle with such force, that it brought on a bright blossom of white light to fill his vision. It also left him with a wide gash on the side of his head just above his left ear, which immediately began to pour blood. The chunk of shrapnel that missed Brewer, landed in Derek's crotch.

Westbrook thought that he could feel his brain slosh inside his skull, as blood flowed and pooled in his left ear. The hot metal burning its way through his camo pants and sending swirls of bluish gray smoke up from between Derek's legs, went unnoticed by the sergeant as he withdrew his hand from the side of his head, and stared in confusion at the dark blood soaking through his glove.

"Westbrook! Westbrook!" Brewer shouted out as he leaned over, picked up the hot piece of shrapnel from between Derek's legs and tossed it out of the Humvee.

"We gotta get the fuck out of here!" Captain Brewer screamed in Derek's face hoping to shake him up. "Westbrook! We have to get the fuck off of this road!"

Blood trickled from the disoriented Sergeant's right nostril to rest just above his top lip. As if his ears were stuffed with cotton-batting, Derek could barely hear Brewer shouting at him to get out of the vehicle. Derek continued to stare at the blood on his glove as he licked the blood from his top lip.

"Get the fuck out of the vehicle! Now!" Brewer shouted once more. "Move! Move! Move!"

Derek could barely get his mind straight, but when he felt the punches delivered to his thigh, he came out of his stupor long enough to comprehend the captain's frantic words. He put on his helmet and snatched his weapon up from the floorboard, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the door handle.

Brewer reached over Derek, shoved the door open and pushed the younger man out of the Humvee. Stumbling over debris, as Brewer screamed for Derek to keep his head down, they stopped long enough to pick up their wounded comrade. Bobbing and weaving, they headed for the ditch along the roadside. Tumbling into the rocky ravine, the three men were pinned down.

"Ratchet is stretched thin, and he's trying his best, so it may take time for him to get to us. You need to take care of Miller, I have to call in for support."

"Yes sir." Derek said and turned his attention to the young man. "It's going to be alright buddy, just hang on."

With the chaos around him, Derek focused on the first aid training he received, and taking a deep breath, he set out to try and keep his comrade breathing until the medic was freed up, or the medi-vac choppers arrived. His hands shook like maracas, but the sergeant did what he had to do. As he opened an emergency med pack, Westbrook looked up into the smoke filled skies and tried to cut a quick deal with the man upstairs.

_Please God, if you get our asses out of here, I promise to serve you.  
_

When the firefight intensified, Captain Brewer sent out an urgent call for assistance. Twenty minutes later, an Apache attack helicopter appeared over the hot zone, forcing the tangos to scatter like roaches. But no matter where they turned, they were unable to get out of the path of the menacing bird in the sky.

Pilot, Captain Jennifer Vasquez, wearing a integrated helmet set her sights on five tangos. The rounds from the chain gun, cut them down in a cloud of dust. Vasquez was a one woman killing machine, and she capped two more as one tried to get off an RPG. With precision, the pilot never missed her mark.

She smirked as she saw more trying to make a run for cover. "On the run, on the run." She said as she turned her head, slaving the M230 to track and fire on the enemy. When the dust cleared she verified her kills. "All enemy combatants have been neutralized."

"Copy that. We thank you for the assist." Captain Brewer said.

"Not a problem. Get your boys out there." Vasquez said as she made one more sweep over the area before taking off.

Now with the threat taken care of, Captain Brewer was able to access the damage. While waiting for medi-vac choppers, the team medic was finally able to get to Miller. While Ratchet attended to Tyrone, Derek held the injured soldier's hand, and gave the babbling corporal comfort by telling him that he was not going to die.

Derek quietly shushed Corporal Miller and wiped foamy blood from the corners of the young man's mouth. Derek watched a crooked smile spread across Tyrone's face and then the corporal suddenly stopped mumbling. Tears slid from the corner of his left eye, and his ashen face went slack, as the hand that was resting on Derek's knee fell away. With his eyes vacant and unfocused, Corporal Tyrone Miller drew his last breath.

"He's gone Westbrook." Ratchet said with a sigh as sat back on his heels and rubbed his tired eyes. "I'm sorry man."

As he sat in the ditch next to the covered body of Corporal Miller, Jocelyn and Sparky came to mind. Derek couldn't look beyond the crater left behind by the initial explosion, or the scattered remains of the specialist and her partner. Derek wanted his memory of her to always be one where she was whole and alive.

* * *

Sitting on the gurney beneath the bright lights, Derek looked down at the dirty blood stained hand against the stark white sheet. Frowning up his nose, Derek looked down the front of his fatigue shirt and noticed how filthy he was. And the stench of his uniform, combined with the blood and battle odors was overwhelming. While being questioned by the second doctor that evening, he wished that she would become offended by the combination of putrid scents coming off of him, and release him so he could return to his unit.

"Does your head still hurt sergeant?"

"No ma'am. I'm fine. I don't know why I'm still here." He replied politely. "The other doctor said my x-rays are fine. And now that I'm all sewn up, is it fine for me to be released?"

"Yes sergeant, I'll get your release papers." She said. "Is there someone you'd like to call back home to let them know?"

"Let them know what, ma'am?"

"That you've been injured." She said. "Would you like to call someone to inform them?" She repeated her question, thinking maybe he had some kind of latent damage to his brain that had been missed.

"I'm not injured ma'am, I just got a little bump to the noggin. I've gotten hurt worse falling out of a tree as a kid." Derek said. "If I call home, my wife and mother will be fit to be tied. I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

* * *

On his last day in Afghanistan, Sergeant Westbrook stood at the fence to get one last look at the dry landscape and the wheat farm beyond it. Watching the small cyclones of sand dance across the desert floor, he thought of how much he had changed since setting foot in the Afghan province of Uruzgan. In just six months, his skin had grown thicker, and his first taste of conflict had made him stronger.

He thought of Jocelyn, Tyrone, and the others who had lost their lives while serving. He mourned for them, and would never forget them, but he had to moved on. He thought that if he held on to their deaths, it would eventually turn to anger, and then boil over into a seething and misplaced hatred. He had already seen it in a few men, and unlike them, Derek was determined to hold onto his sanity and humanity.

He would not hold an entire nation of people responsible for what happened to his friend and fellow Rangers. The enemy were those who set out to terrorize and kill. And with that in mind, he knew that upon his return to the states, he would once more begin to focus on his goal.


	7. Chapter 6

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.**

**AN: This chapter does contain mild sexual content that is very vanilla. I also had to go back and make changes to the last two chapters. I was unaware that the 75th Rangers only deploy 3-6 months at a time. **

**Also, thanks to all of you who continue to read and review.  
**

* * *

As the flowing lightweight fabric of her yellow sundress blew up around her thighs, Yvonne fought against the breeze that threatened to expose her Victoria Secret underwear, and steal the wide brimmed sunhat from her head.

With both hands occupied, Yvonne soon felt a gust of warm air blow up the back of her dress, followed by suggestive whistling and laughter. Distracted, she removed her hand from the top of her head, and the hat took off like a kite. Twisting and turning over the crowd, it eventually took off westward, and then out of sight.

Hoping to spot it, Yvonne looked up into the air, and began turning around in circles. Gazing up at the clouds as they drifted by made her dizzy, and she clumsily tripped over her own feet. Stumbling, she lost her right sandal and dropped her handbag. Getting down on her knees to retrieve the contents that had spilled out, she once again felt a breeze kiss her ass as the back of her dress blew up.

And that is how Derek found her. In the crowd of soldiers and their families, there was his wife. Yvonne was down on her knees with her hair blowing wildly to cover her face, and wearing one shoe. Even with her canary yellow unmentionables on display for all to see, Derek still thought she was the most beautiful girl there.

"It looks like you could use some help ma'am." Derek said in a over the top southern accent as he crouched down in front of her. "I'd be more than happy to help you pretty lady."

"No...I'm fine." She said without looking up. "Thank you sir for offering."

"Aw, shucks Vonnie girl, it ain't nothin'."

When she heard her name mentioned, Yvonne froze and slowly raised her eyes. Like a horse let out the gate, she jumped at him and nearly knocked him over. Wrapping her arms around his neck so tight that it nearly cut off his air supply, Yvonne left lipstick prints all over his face before drawing back to get a good look at him. When he lifted her up off her feet and he swung her around, the remaining sandal dangled from her toes until it fell to the ground, leaving her barefoot.

* * *

The drive from Fort Benning was torture for the young couple. Derek tried his best to convince Yvonne to stop at a motel, but she was determined to have him in her bed. With her roommate gone off to Afghanistan, Yvonne now had the apartment to herself, and as they headed north, the closer they got, the more she felt the familiar pull below the waist.

Derek had intended to make the first evening back a romantic one, but when he slid between the sheets, romantic thoughts began to fall quickly to the wayside. Whatever ones were left, his carnal thoughts wiped them out. To Derek, it was a nice gesture on his wife's part, but for him, there was no need for the rose petals that she had scattered across the linens. And the sergeant could care less about the ambiance created by the aromatic candles that she had placed strategically around the room. He would romance her later, but in the meantime it was simple, all he needed was a bed and his wife.

The first round was just the test run and as expected, it ended quickly. But after hydrating, and a two hour nap followed by a meal of Chinese takeout, Derek was ready for round two. As his wife worked him like a pack mule, Derek grit his teeth so tight, that he felt his jawbones pop. She then took off the kid gloves, and when the bell rang to end the second round, she had won it, hands down.

Like an infant after a warm bath and bottle, Derek was out for the night. He was sprawled out on his back, with his hands above his head as if in surrender. The soldier who had conquered Ranger training, and survived six months in the hottest zone on the planet, was laid out by one night of sexual healing. Yvonne, eating left over beef and broccoli, and sitting up reading about Honey Santana and her wild adventures, showed no signs of exhaustion.

* * *

After a week, Yvonne returned to work, and Derek drove up to Virginia to visit with his parents. Before his arrival, he had specifically told his mother not to make a fuss, but he knew better. When he turned the corner onto Vine, from down the block Derek could see his mother's handiwork. Along with dozens of elastic balloons floating in clumps on their strings, there were equally as many shiny Mylar ones in the shape of stars, spinning around on their shiny ribbons.

Fluttering in the warm July breeze were mini flags neatly planted in front of the hedges. A banner strung across the porch rail welcoming him home was so huge, that Derek was quite certain that it could be seen from outer space. The staff sergeant was tempted to turn around and head back for the highway, but he knew that was not an option. And so he pulled up behind his father's pickup, and hung his head in resignation. Derek also kept his eyes averted, because he feared that if he gazed for too long at the display, the overload of red, white, and blue would give him a headache.

_Thanks for keeping it low key mom._

And when she nearly tore the door off the hinges of the car to get to him, Derek flinched as she reached in and about pulled him out of the vehicle. It took all that he had not to pry his mother off, as she smothered him in kisses. Evelyn had him in such a tight grip, that the soldier found himself struggling to breathe. Derek laughed and told her that he had not survived six months in Afghanistan, to come home to be strangled by his mother.

As he sat at the table rubbing his hand along the back of his sore neck, Evelyn pulled out her dough board and commenced to getting busy. As she dusted the board with flour, she talked a mile a minute, allowing no room for him to get a word in.

"Your dad is over at Maynard's farm helping Horus with his old truck, but he'll be home soon."

"That's fine mom."

"I'm sorry honey that you couldn't make it home for your Uncle Ray's funeral." Evelyn said as she turned the dough out onto the board. "The funeral was something else. The church was packed to the rafters with folks. You would not believe how many people came to say their goodbyes to him. And the food! Dear God, we had more funeral chicken than you could shake a stick at."

"So who's taking over the restaurant?" Derek asked.

"Sweet Jesus, I almost forgot to tell you." Evelyn said, as she wiped the flour from her hands. "The restaurant is up for sale, the proceeds to be split between your daddy and your Auntie Jude. And the house," she chuckled. "well, he left that to you and Yvonne."

"What?"

"You heard me. He left you and Yvonne his house." Evelyn said. "You know your Auntie Jude is upset about it. She's always loved that big old Victorian. She even cussed your poor daddy out, as if he had something to do with it. But you know how she is."

"She'll get over it." Drew said as he entered the kitchen. "That woman is enough to wear the brass balls off of a monkey, but she's my family, and I love her." The older Westbrook said wearily as he hugged his son, and then took a seat at the table."How are you son?"

"I'm fine dad."

"Your Aunt Jude wants what she can't have, so don't pay any attention if she scowls at you when she sees you." Drew said smiling. "Raphael willed it you, so it's yours."

"Let her have it dad. We can't afford to keep it."

"Don't worry about that son, we'll work something out. Raphael wanted you kids to have it." Drew said. "And you and Yvonne deserve it Derek."

"You have to take it Derek." Evelyn said, shaking her rolling pen at him. "What if you and Yvonne have a child? Our future grand-baby will need a place to call home."

* * *

Yvonne closed another box and stacked it with the others. Five months after Derek's return, the corporal had been informed that the 202nd Military Intelligence Battalion would be leaving the comfort of Fort Gordon to be stationed for twelve months, on a dusty and isolated base in the Middle East. She sat down in the middle of the tiny living room floor, and surrounded by newsprint and boxes, she placed a call to Derek.

"Hey honey, just wanted to ask what time you'll be in tomorrow."

"Damn. I'm sorry Vonnie, it's so busy around here, that I forgot to call you." Derek said. "Um...I'm sorry honey, but I can't make it down to celebrate Christmas, or make the trip back home with you."

"But Derek, you said the time was approved-"

"I know honey, but something came up. Let me see what I can do, but don't hold your breath."

"O-Okay. I love you."

"I love you too babe."

After hanging up, Yvonne looked over at the small artificial Christmas tree on the end table. With its lone present beneath it, Yvonne felt the pitiful display was mocking her. Jumping up, she went over and pulled it from its place on the table with such force, that the cord was pulled from the electrical socket. It swished through the air, and caught Yvonne across her right cheek.

As a red welt rose up, Yvonne shook the tree as if to strangle it. With the lights, ornaments and garland still attached to it, she tossed it into the trash bin. She then scooped up the small neatly wrapped gift, and threw it in as well. With angry tears spilling down her cheeks, the tantrum left her so frazzled and shame filled, that she could not finish packing.

When Derek called the next day, she could hear in the tone of his voice, that he would not be driving down to Fort Gordon. She had already built up a barrier to take the blow, and although she was disappointed, she was not shocked by it. Yvonne celebrated Christmas alone, eating a store bought prepared dinner that she had purchased from a 24 hour convenience store. Without thinking twice about how Derek was spending the holiday, after calling her mother and wishing her a Merry Christmas, Yvonne spent the rest of the day filling and taping boxes up.

As she packed up her car for her trip to Virginia, her husband never entered her thoughts. At first it frightened Yvonne that she could put him out of her mind, and she began to wonder if maybe their marriage was in trouble.

* * *

With Bonnie's back seats loaded up to the ceiling, and pulling a small U-Haul trailer, Yvonne pulled away from the apartment complex for the last time.

Eight hours later, Yvonne drove the old station wagon slowly up Thicket Street. When she pulled into her mother's driveway and cut the engine, the front door swung open, and Grace, along with her three older sisters hot on her heels, ran out to greet her.

As Marvin Gaye played on the old record player, they sat in the warm kitchen filled with the aroma of Grace's homemade pound cake and a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Maxine, never one to go without her flask, pulled it out of her purse, and poured a generous amount of Jack Daniels into her coffee mug.

"Yvonne, I need you to be careful over there." Grace said. "You are my baby, and I can't replace you, so you make sure you come back to me."

"I will mom."

"You know it's hot as hell over there in the Middle East Baby Sis, and just because you're a sister, does not mean that you don't have to cover up." Maxine said. "Don't believe that you can't get skin cancer, baby."

"I know Auntie Maxine."

"And don't let your eyes roam either." Shirley said with a wink. "You got a bit of my blood in your girl, and you know how much I love a man in uniform."

"Shirley behave yourself." Grace said. "You know very well Yvonne is not like that."

"Girl, you don't know your daughter. I think our Baby Sis has a fetish for men in uniform."

"Auntie Shirley! I do not!" Yvonne said as her cheeks reddened. "Stop poking fun, auntie!"

"Always talking about how good your man looks in his uniform." Shirley said. "Oh my Derek looks so fine in his uniform. No soldier looks like my Ranger when he's in uniform. Oh my God! I look at my Derek in his uniform, and I get all faint. And it's because of my fine ass soldier in his uniform, that I get all damp down in my nether regions."

"Shirley, watch your mouth before you get struck down!" Grace said as she slapped her sister on the shoulder. "Don't talk like that!"

"Please Gracie, it's been years since you had virgin ears." Shirley said as she lit a cigarette. "And God doesn't go around striking women down on account of a few words."

"And put that out." Grace scolded fanning away smoke. "How many times have I told you not to smoke in my house, Shirley."

Yvonne smiled fondly at the women around the kitchen table. Her aunts, who had helped her mother to raise her and her sisters after they lost their father, treated her as if she was their daughter instead of their niece. It was them, who made sure that Yvonne and her sisters never went without when funds were low.

Rough around the edges, and wise to the world, her aunties were strong women. She was certain that they were sturdy because they had paid a ton of dues from living hard, and surviving what was thrown at them. Always ladies in good company, but stone cold bitches if you rubbed them, or anyone they cared about the wrong way.

Like her mother, Yvonne was soft and rarely raised her voice. She was thankful for that, because Grace was a beautiful person, and was the center of Yvonne's world. But she also wished that she had some of what her aunties were made of. She wanted to be sassy and outspoken, but it was not her way.

* * *

A week before she was to leave for Afghanistan, Yvonne sat at her desk, checking her messages. One was from the rental company who handled the lease on the off-base apartment, and the other was from Derek, informing her that if she was available, to meet him.

"I'll be at Ziggy's Cafe around 1700, and I only have a few hours, babe, so I hope you can get away. Call me when you receive this to confirm.

**AN: Honey Santana belongs to author Carl Hiaasen.**


	8. Chapter 7

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.  
**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read.  
**

* * *

Ziggy's Café, the clapboard structure built in 1941, if not for the sign out front, could easily be mistaken for a shanty. And for those not adventurous enough to stop and check the old diner out, they were surely missing out on a slice of Americana.

Along with dishing out the best biscuits and gravy, the cafe's atmosphere alone, made a stop worthwhile. With an authentic Wurlitzer jukebox, spinning discs of rockabilly and blues classics, Ziggy's was downright homey. This made the small, out of the way establishment a favorite of Derek and Yvonne's. Whenever Derek drove down to Fort Gordon, he and Yvonne would eat at Ziggy's and then head down the road to the Motel 8.

When the bell above the door chimed, the owner, seventy-five year old Ziggy Markowitz looked up from his newspaper to greet the incoming customer.

"Hey kiddo, where's that's beautiful wife of yours?"

"She'll be here soon." Derek said as he approached the counter. "So how have you been Mr. Markowitz?"

"Besides my gout paining me, I can't complain soldier boy."

* * *

After three cups of coffee and two slices of pecan pie, Derek sat looking out the dirty cafe window to see the last light of day fading. When a car pulled into the diner lot, Derek raised his hand to shield his eyes from the headlights set on high beam. The driver parked the neon green Volkswagen Beetle beneath a halo of light, and cut the engine. When he saw his wife getting out of the borrowed car, Derek wasted no time in making it outside to greet her.

"There's my girl." Derek said kissing her on the cheek. "I'm glad you could make it babe."

"Of course I made it Derek."

When Derek told Yvonne that he was sorry for not being there for her, Yvonne told him it was over and done with. Any hurt that was left over from the holiday, had been let go of. Because after sitting at the big girls table with her mother and aunties, the sergeant had walked away with a bit wisdom on love and marriage.

One thing she learned was never sweat the small shit. With that in mind, she smiled fondly at her husband and kissed him in return. She was determined to not allow harsh words to pass between them before she left the country, and so the subject was dropped.

"How about we go inside where it's warm, and order supper?" Derek asked as he held open the cafe door for her. "It will be my treat Mrs. Westbrook ma'am."

"Sounds like a plan." Yvonne said. "And after supper, I hope that there will be time for us to make a trip down the road. I believe you should give your wife a proper goodbye, Sergeant Westbrook."

* * *

Searching frantically, the still naked couple tore the linens from the bed and shook them out. Yvonne paced the floor nervously, her fingers drumming along her hipbone as she tried to figure out how a condom could disappear. And it was then that it hit her.

Yvonne stopped marching, slapped her forehead, and turned slowly to face her husband. Derek frowned, as he tried to read her expression. When she stopped in front of him, her eyes trailed down, as if she were giving him a clue. Catching on, his eyes followed hers down to her crotch.

"You're kidding me." He said. His tone flat as he flopped down onto the mattress. "You have got to be joking."

"No I am not, so please excuse me." Yvonne said, as she spun on her heel. "I need a little privacy."

She went into the bathroom, and as Derek reached the door, she closed it in his face. He felt slighted that his wife did not request his assistance for the extraction, at least allow him the opportunity to supervise. He crossed his arms and leaned his back against the door.

"Yvonne, what if-"

"Don't so much as think it!" She hollered out from behind the closed door.

"But what are the cha-"

"Slim to none!"

As she sat on the toilet, Yvonne visualized millions of Derek's tiny soldiers marching onward in search of the prize, the precious egg. She knew their mission would be a hard one, but she did not underestimate them. Yvonne was aware that many would vanish on the long road to victory, and there would be many obstacles. But she also knew that it would only take one of his boys to complete the mission.

"Vonnie! Honey are you okay in there? Do you need me to come in?"

"N-No! I'm fine!" Yvonne stammered as she flushed the toilet. "I'll be out in a minute, sweetheart."

* * *

Dusty was putting it mildly when describing the isolated camp. Yvonne didn't know what was worse, a day covered in what had become known around FOB Vulcan as moon dust, or scraping the peanut butter like mud from her boot treads after a rare rainfall.

Pulling her hair back and with a quick twist securing it into a small bun, Yvonne put on her cap, wiped the beads of sweat from her nose, and left her shared quarters.

As she approached the large mess hall, Yvonne suddenly felt her stomach twist, as the aroma of bacon and fried potatoes that drifted through the air assaulted her nose. It brought on a very unladylike dry heave, and like a tidal wave, nausea rolled up and she heard her stomach whine. Belching air, Yvonne entered and headed straight for the large urns containing the world's worse coffee.

But the heavy odor of chicory informing her that it had been brewed to a deep thick sludge, was enough for her to steer clear. In the back of her mind, she had an inkling that her body was trying to tell her something. And she knew exactly what it was. Her February period had been spotty, and now it was March, and she was four days late. Yvonne could no longer deny the fact that one of her husband's little soldiers had made it through.

With a hot cup of tea in one hand and a slice of dry toast in the other, the sergeant left the mess hall and began the short trek over to the dimly lit, air-conditioned trailer to start her long and tedious twelve hour shift in front of a monitor screen. Sweating and shivering at the same time, Yvonne sat down at her workstation and without trying to draw attention, munched quietly as possible on her toast.

That afternoon, when she entered the mess for lunch, the smell of ground chuck and fish combined, along with an odor that reminded Yvonne of wheat paste was overwhelming. She left the line, and rushed outside to get some fresh air. Swooning in the noon day heat, she took a deep breath and bent over. To prevent falling over head first, Yvonne gripped her knees, and without warning, she vomited.

Straining hard enough to force her eyes to water, and her back to hunch and spasm painfully, Yvonne gagged as she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Yvonne wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath.

Straightening her cap and mustering up what little dignity she had left, the sergeant kicked up enough sand to cover the puddle. Embarrassed, she avoided the stares of others as she put her chin up and walked past them. Before returning to work, Yvonne called the base medical clinic to schedule an appointment.

* * *

A week later, Yvonne sat on an examination table in a paper gown. She felt uncomfortable, as Major Benoit, who she felt had the bedside manner of a mortician, confirmed what she already knew.

"Well sergeant, I don't know if I should congratulate you, or chastise you for being foolish." The doctor said without looking at her. "But what I do know, is that your pregnancy definitely ends your deployment with us here in Afghanistan, Sergeant Westbrook."

"I understand sir."

"Are you quite certain of the date of your last period?" He asked as the corners of his mouth pulled down into an ugly frown. Using his pen, he pointed it at her wedding band as he questioned her further. "Your file shows your husband as next of kin. Is Staff Sergeant Westbrook stationed here in Afghanistan as well? Or is he...elsewhere?" His face still holding the tight lip expression as he dared her to pop wise with him.

Yvonne caught the insinuation and quickly bit her tongue. She could see her Auntie Maxine coming out, but she did not have the skills to spin the words like her diva aunt to make them come out as a clever insult. So she went for mildly salty.

"To answer your first question sir, I am _very_ sure of the date. And to answer your second, it is really none of your business where my husband is stationed." Yvonne said flatly as she slid from the examination table. "And if you don't mind sir…I'd like to get dressed."

When she entered the trailer that she shared with Sergeant Margaret Stewart, Yvonne breathed a sigh of relief when she found that her roommate had not returned from her shift. Yvonne sat down on her cot, put her head down in her hands, and stared at her boots. She debated who she should call first, her husband, or her mother.

In spite of the deep love for her mother, Yvonne knew the woman would tell her that the pregnancy was by the grace of God and that is was his will for Yvonne to be with child. Her mother would never accept the fact that it was not God's work, but a condom malfunction that left her daughter with a bun in her oven. With this in mind, the sergeant was not in the mood for Bible thumping, and so she thought it was best not to call her mother.

* * *

"Derek…I'm pregnant."

Yvonne gnawed on her thumbnail as she waited anxiously for his reaction. The silence on the other end made her nervous, and she assumed that either he did not hear her, or he needed time to take it in.

"Are you sure, Vonnie?"

"Yes Derek, I'm sure."

"Have you seen a doctor to ver-"

"No Derek, I haven't seen a doctor," she stated boldly cutting him off. "But I did consult Old Mary Voodoo of New Orleans. You know Mary… the one who uses her crystals and roots to verify pregnancies. Of course I've seen a doctor. And as I recall, he was an arrogant, racist bastard. But regardless of that, he was more than qualified to confirm a pregnancy."

The icy chill in her voice could be felt over continents. Derek trying to get out of the bulls eye, thought it would be a good idea for him to try and lighten her mood with humor.

"Do you need me to come over on the other side of the mountain to kick his ass for you sweetheart?"

"Not in the mood, Derek." Yvonne said in warning. "Now is not the time."

"So what do you want to do?" Derek asked. "Are you calling me to tell me that I'm going to be a father, or to tell me that you don't want to be a mother?"

"Don't speak in riddles, just say what you mean, and mean what you say."

"I would love to be a father, Yvonne. The question is, are you ready for motherhood?"

"If I wasn't Derek, believe me, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

* * *

As the plane landed at Dulles International, Yvonne looked out the window at the cloudy sky, as it released a light drizzle, but she did not care, because the sergeant was home. She pressed her hand to her lower abdomen as if the fetus, no bigger than a kidney bean, could feel her touch.

Yvonne wondered if the tiny being was a girl. If so, she wondered would her daughter one day wear big coke bottle lenses and have knobby knees? Would she become a voracious reader with a vivid imagination, and love the color yellow as much as her mother?

Maybe, Yvonne thought, she would be blessed with a little girl who would climb and camp out in trees. Yvonne could see her girl, with her face covered in mud camouflage like Derek had done when he was a boy. Her daughter would shoot bad boys, and stand up to racists bullies.

Yvonne would try to instill in her daughter the fiery spirit of her aunties, and the gentle soulfulness of her mother Grace. The mother-to-be would teach her daughter to not settle for less, but to reach for the brass ring and hold on to it with both hands.

Or maybe she was carrying a boy. A little fella with his father's dimples, and a smile so genuine, that it would melt the heart of even the sourest of folk. A boy with a thirst for adventure and exploring. Yvonne would raise him to be respectful and kind, but give him the wisdom to never let anyone mistake his kindness for a weakness. She would teach him how to treat a good woman right, but never allow a bad one to take advantage of him.

Yvonne felt giddy just thinking about it. And although she had no idea what the future held, she was certain that she and Derek would do their best to love their child unconditionally.


	9. Chapter 8

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This work of fiction, set in an AU, has mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. It is truly not my intention to offend.  
**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.  
**

* * *

On a chilly day in March, Derek, along with others fortunate enough to be chosen, arrived at a remote training site in West Virginia. The staff sergeant did not allow the freezing rain to ruin his good mood, as he basked in the glow of good karma, and contemplated his good fortune. His wife was out of Afghanistan and pregnant with their first child. And after ten years in service, he had been recommended for selection.

Reminiscent of his Ranger training, Derek had to remind himself that the selection process was just the beginning, and was intended to weed out the weakest links. He had seen men who considered themselves the 'cock of the walk' fall to their knees and cry uncle during Ranger training. He let the roosters who crowed the loudest keep talking, while he kept his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open.

Although he was humble, Westbrook also knew that he had been born of good stock, which in his mind made him far from a weak link. And by the end of the selection process, Derek, like he had during Ranger training, took off running.

As the cool spring weather gave way to the hot days of summer, Derek pressed on. By early September, as the Dog-Day cicadas sang their late summer song, the long grueling training had finally come to an end. Staff Sergeant Derek Westbrook was now a member of the 1st SFOD-D.

"We fucking survived it Westbrook." Sergeant Willows said as he zipped up his bag and shouldered it. "Man, six motherfucking months of hardcore shit, but we made it."

* * *

As Derek started his day in celebration, over five hundred miles away, his wife was in the commissary on base at Fort Gordon, starting her day off on the wrong foot. Digging through her change purse for funds to pay for her breakfast, Yvonne was feeling foolish, as the cashier tapped her fingers impatiently on the side of the cash register.

The sergeant had become increasingly forgetful as the month wore on, and leaving the house in a rush, she had forgotten her purse. All that she had with her was the coin pouch connected to her key chain.

"Ma'am, if you'd like, I can take off the bananas." The cashier said with impatience. "Or else I can take off the grapes."

Yvonne pulled out a handful of crumpled dollar bills, some lint, and enough change to cover both items. She apologized to the customers in line, and headed for the exit. The sergeant, taking short awkward steps that made her appear as if she were swaying side to side like a toddler, reached into her bag and pulled out the bananas.

Walking across the lot, Yvonne separated one from the bunch, and immediately peeled and shoved half of the fruit into her mouth. Gobbling up the banana as if she had never eaten one before, Yvonne caught the look of disapproval directed her way by two women heading towards her. The officers wives, leaving behind a trail of perfume, snickered as they strolled past, and looked back at the pregnant soldier. With an air of superiority, the two, with their spray tans, perfect hair and bleached smiles, entered through the automatic doors.

The sergeant, already feeling low, suddenly felt weepy and unattractive. Looking down the front of her uniform, Yvonne picked strands of banana fibers from her top, and tossed the empty peel into a nearby garbage bin by the cart station.

By the time she made it to work, her depressing mood had become almost unbearable. She thought of the statuesque women and how they sashayed with confidence, while she awkwardly waddled like a penguin.

Four hours later as she sat at her workstation, Yvonne tried her best to not expel the gas that had been building since breakfast. Afraid that if the baby continued with the afternoon calisthenics, she would not only break wind, but wet her pants in the process.

Beneath the hideously drab green military maternity smock, her child stretched out, and forced the wind out of her anyway, leaving behind an unpleasant odor that smelled like rotten fruit. Placing her fingers gently over the tiny heel that was pushing against her, Yvonne tried to coax her child to change position. But the baby, like the father was quite stubborn.

Pulling into her driveway, Yvonne was thankful that her miserable day on base was left behind her. The small but comfy two bedroom house in the Augusta area was nothing special, but it was in a safe area, and it was covered by the housing allowance that she received.

Unlocking the front door to her sanctuary, Yvonne was glad that she opted out of living on base. Putting much needed space between her military life and her private one, she closed her front door and left work behind. The sergeant pried her shoes off of her swollen feet, and hobbled straight for the stereo. With Aretha's soulful voice soothing her, Yvonne sighed and made her way up the stairs and into her bedroom.

"Oh baby, it has been a long day." Yvonne said to her unborn child, as she rubbed her swollen belly. "Mommy let her emotions get the best of her today, and it was not very pretty."

After a meal of leftover spaghetti, Yvonne, with her feet soaking in a plastic tub filled with warm water and Epsom salts, started the process of going through the bills. With the first of the month just a few days away, she sorted them out by due dates, stacked them neatly, and placed them in the wire mesh basket marked PRIORITY.

It had been well over two months since she had spoken to Derek, and the weary mother-to-be mentally cursed her hormones when she saw her husband's face come into view. Yvonne's eyes welled with tears and she swiped them away quickly as they spilled over. Although the connection was not the best, the intermittent lagging would not stop them from communicating.

"There's my girl. How are you beautiful?"

"I'm fine honey, how's it going?"

"I made it Vonnie."

His matter-of-fact tone reminded Yvonne of how humble her husband truly was, and she found it to be just one of the many beautiful qualities that Derek possessed. She actually found it sexy that her man never flexed his muscles, or tooted his own horn. There was no boasting or going on from him about it, just the news of his accomplishment, plain and simple.

"Congratulations honey, I'm so proud of you." Yvonne said_. _"Should I make plans for a reunion and celebration? You know...just for the two of us?"

"I wish I could get away Vonnie, but there are still some loose ends that need tying up. You know how it is, red tape and bullshit."

Yvonne understood very well about military officialism, but it did nothing to ease the hurt and loneliness that followed after their video chat. Before calling it a night, she shuffled into the kitchen in search of comfort food. Ten minutes later, with a dessert bowl filled with banana split fixings, Yvonne climbed into bed and propping the bowl on her belly, she ate her treat as she watched the evening news.

* * *

Christian Joseph Raphael Westbrook decided that October fifteenth, was as good as any other day to enter the world. He gave Yvonne a warning when at approximately three-thirty in the morning, her water broke. She called Derek and left him a message, and then called Grace. The sergeant calmly drove herself five miles away to Trinity Hospital, where after five hours of intense labor, she gave birth to her son.

Three days later, the women of Yvonne's family gathered around and introduced themselves to the new addition to their family.

"He's beautiful Yvonne." Grace said with pride in her voice. "Just absolutely beautiful."

Aunt Aggie, the matriarch of the family at ninety-one, shuffled past Grace and stood in front of Yvonne. Her soft quivering voice did not fit her piss and vinegar attitude as she shook an arthritic finger at the bundle in Yvonne's arms.

"I know our folks got some cream in our coffee, but damn Gracie, that baby is as white as his daddy." She cackled. "I can see why though, because as you know, your husband Joe's mama was a quadroon." Aggie said as she leaned on her walking stick. "How do you think your girls got that near white folk hair on their heads?"

"Aunt Aggie, nobody says such things anymore, so please watch your tongue. And don't you dare say such a thing when Evelyn and Drew arrive." Grace said to the elderly woman.

"Child I'm just being honest…little Chick Pea is his daddy's spitting image." The elderly lady looked over her bifocals and squinted. "Looks like the boy shot this baby out on his own."

"You just say whatever you want don't you Aggie?" Grace said.

"I've lived long enough and earned the right to." She said with a toothless grin. "And why in heaven's name does the boy have so many names?"

"Aggie, please." Shirley said as she took the older woman over to a chair. "You just have a seat here old mother, and keep it down."

Grace and the others knew their auntie well, and they could feel one of her sermons coming on, as the elder sat back in the chair. Out of respect for their oldest living relative, they gave Aggie the floor to speak her mind.

"Aggie please nothing! The old woman said. "Chick Pea only needs one name. You young girls nowadays. Disposable diapers and plastic bottles. What's wrong with cloth diapers and the breast?" She huffed. "In my day, babies were off the pot and tit by age one. You young gals let them walk around until three and four years old wearing them damn toss away diapers, and suckling like leeches on your titties until the age of five."

Maxine pulled her flask from her purse. Laughing over Aggie's dramatic and exaggerated statements, Maxine added fuel to her Aunt Aggie's fire. "Preach on Sister Agnes, and set the world straight."

"Lord have mercy! The human race is just getting weaker and weaker. Can't get up to turn off and on the television. I've seen where a car can now park itself. Kids talking back to their parents like they are grown. Folks running wild and talking about the walking dead. The world has gone crazy. Just like the book of Revelation, the end is drawing near." She said, rapping the bottom of her walking stick on the carpeted floor. "I hope you gals are all set straight with God."

* * *

After working a twelve hour shift, Yvonne picked Christian up from the on-base childcare facility. Before heading home, she made a stop to purchase diapers, wipes, and a baked chicken dinner from the prepared foods section. When she finally reached her door, Yvonne knew her day was not over as her role of soldier ended and her job of being a mother began.

Balancing a laundry basket on her left hip, and with Christian in a carrier against her chest, the multitasking mom entered the nursery. Dropping the basket into the rocking chair by the window, she then gently removed him from the carrier. Without waking him, she placed the sleeping infant into his crib. "Sweet dreams mommy's baby." Yvonne whispered as she gathered the basket and left the room.

After putting away the clean towels, she packed up the Christmas ornaments, and took the tree out to the curb. She restocked Christian's diaper bag, and picked out an outfit for him. She then pressed and laid out a uniform for work, pumped adequate ounces of milk, and stored the plastic sleeves in the refrigerator. She ate her supper, barely tasting the dried out chicken and soggy vegetables, and then folded another load of laundry. Exhausted, the young mother flopped into the chair in front of the laptop and with her remaining strength, she was able to pull up a genuine smile for her husband.

Yvonne had noticed over the past two months, that their chats had become predictable and mundane. It was as if they were strangers commenting on the day's weather. Yvonne told him all that was happening in the world of their son, and then they would discuss their finances and bills.

She assumed that after nearly twenty years of talking and sharing, there was not really much left to say to one another. Or maybe it was because they were comfortable in their marriage and secure in the knowledge that they did not have to go out of their way to please each other. She voted for the latter.

"Have you received the prayer bead necklace I sent off to you for Christmas?" Yvonne asked.

"No, it hasn't arrived yet."

"I know you don't like wearing jewelry of any kind, but when it arrives, would you do me a favor, and at least put it on when you go out into the field?"

"Will do honey." Derek said.

"Please be careful Derek, and stay safe."

"Always Vonnie. I love you honey, and give my boy a kiss from his papa." Derek said. "And I'll see you both real soon."

* * *

Two days later, Yvonne, wearing a shiny gold New Year's party hat, sat on the floor in front of the television with Christian beside her in his bouncer. When the ball dropped in Time Square to welcome in 2012, Yvonne leaned over and kissed the baby on his forehead. "Happy New Year mommy's baby." _And Happy New Year to you my husband, where ever you are.  
_


	10. Chapter 9

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision  
**

**This romance story is a work of fiction, set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (It is truly not my intention to offend.)  
**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

* * *

When the four men reached the conference room, they stood outside in the dank hallway and took a gander at the poster held to the door with push pins and tape. The black and white print featuring the cherub faced Spanky schooling his buddies Alfalfa and Buckwheat on the exclusivity of their club, was a classic.

Spanky, with a crooked smirk on his chubby face, had his thumb jerked over his shoulder at a crudely made sign, informing his buddies that no girls would be permitted admission into the boys club. What could easily be taken by some to be a blatant misogynistic crack, to others was a warning of what to expect upon entering the windowless basement room.

Without proper ventilation, the thick fog of smoke that hung in the air swirled around the heads of the dungeon's occupants. The cloying odor of cigar and cigarette smoke was burned into every bit of fabric and carpet fiber in the enclosed area.

The décor was simply made up of a mix and match of thrift store pieces. Derek was not surprised to see that the olive green sofa, with two matching and equally sagging arm chairs, was appropriately accented with a end table holding a lamp that had been in fashion during the Nixon years.

Set up beneath two vintage fluorescent lighting fixtures was a long conference table, and in a far corner a dented file cabinet with a coffee pot on top. Even in the poor lighting, Derek could see the brown stained carafe held a brewed mixture as dark and thick as ink.

On the back wall hung two large bulletin boards covered with photos and key information, and lined neatly above them were a dozen framed Playboy Pinups. _What a waste_, Derek thought when he noticed the voluptuous women were barely visible through their nicotine tinted panes of glass.

Three of the four men bent over the table, did not bother to look up when Team Metal entered the room. The eclectic group of men gathered around the table ranged from clean cut to rogue biker in appearance. From hellion to humble and soft spoken in speech, the members of Team Granite were too busy to play meet and greet.

"Hey old man," greeted Captain Branson as he crossed the room and shook Sandman's hand. "Good to see you."

Turning to Derek, Cap laughed and shook his head. "Lord have mercy. How old are you son, fifteen?"

Derek's poker face only made the captain's laughter grow more boisterous as Branson nudged Sandman. "It looks like you've got yourself an ice cold frosty one here Sandy," Cap teased as he winked at Derek. "Well if Sandy don't mind…from here on out, I'll be calling you Frosty," Cap stuck his hand out for Derek to shake. "Welcome to the club."

Derek had to give Cap a touché for busting his chops, as he firmly shook the older man's hand. "Thank you sir."

Captain Scott "Cap" Branson, a native of Pennsylvania, was a man with a pleasant disposition. Getting a good look at the forty-one year old leader of Granite, Derek could not resist returning the man's smile. With his dark wavy hair and green eyes, Derek was certain that Yvonne's aunties would definitely categorize the captain as 'Hollywood handsome.'

"What have you got here, Cap?" Sandman asked, as his eyes scanned over the helter skelter of information that covered the tabletop.

"You know how it goes. Because we are on the bottom rung it is need to know only, and so we are only entitled to know _who_ and _where_." said Cap, tossing the butt of his smoke into his cold cup of coffee. "Intelligence has verified Nestor Maitland, aka 'the chemist' as our target."

"Well I'll be damned," Sandman said. "That bastard's been ghost for nearly two years. What's he mixing up now, a toxic cocktail to sell to the highest bidder?"

"More than likely."

"We're we headed to, Captain Branson?" Truck asked.

"We're heading to Alaska," he said while passing out photos of Maitland. "Hyder, Alaska to be exact... population one hundred and one."

"Posse Comitatus," said Sandman. "It won't be the first time we skated beneath it."

Captain Branson shook his head in agreement. "Exactly, so we cannot afford to screw this up, yintz guys."

* * *

Pulling the thermal compression tights up over his hips, Derek silently thanked Evelyn for looking out for her boy on his birthday. Now that he was just two years shy of thirty, Derek knew how important is was for him to take better care of his body. And if it meant he had to wear fancy garments under his clothing and take vitamins and supplements, then so be it.

While making his way into the dark interior of the C-160, Derek double wrapped the beaded prayer necklace from Yvonne around his right wrist like a bracelet. Rolling one of the ceramic beads back and forth between his fingers, it brought to mind the vow that he had made in Afghanistan.

But the recollection of the foxhole religion moment was fleeting, because Derek felt no guilt over breaking a promise uttered in the past while under the stress of battle.

First Sergeant Joshua Wilcox, who had been watching Derek fiddle with the necklace on his wrist, whistled to get his attention. Smiling, he pulled out of his collar a nomadic prayer necklace made of turquoise and coral bone. "Girlfriend," said Josh tapping the tasseled end. "And although I don't believe, I still wear it for her."

* * *

"In and out. Snatch that little bastard and all if any valuable intel, and get the hell out of Dodge," said Cap. "Now remember, Maitland is a little motherfucker, standing no more than five-one at most, so don't leave a nook or cranny unchecked."

There was no compound, or high security estate surrounded by high voltage fencing and razor wire. There were just a couple of rib thin and hungry looking guard dogs who looked to be on their last leg.

Where Nestor Maitland bedded down at night, was on the second floor of an old two story clapboard that had once been a general store and trading post. Tucked back on a deserted logging road, the dilapidated building sat on an overgrown plot of land that had been long forgotten by the residents of the small Alaskan town.

"We came all this way to capture a man who is hiding out in a cracker box," said Cap sarcastically. "The condemned shit heap looks even worse in person."

Taking out the two Presas guarding the ramshackle structure, the sniper team informed the members of Metal and Granite, that it was clear for them to move in.

"Dawn will be creeping up soon, so we'd better get to him before he rises," said the captain as he took the safety off of his weapon. "We know the layout from top to bottom, so this should be over in minutes."

Derek along with First Sergeant Wilcox took the stairs quietly up to the second floor. They silently swept four rooms to the left of the hallway, finding all rooms empty. The last room entered was to the right, which turned out to be a storeroom that ran the length of the structure.

Cluttered with boxes of canned goods and sacks of dry goods covered in dust and cobwebs, the two men entered the dark room with caution. Wilcox gestured for Derek to check out the rickety screened in second floor porch while he continued to search the storeroom.

As he stepped carefully across the warped boards, Derek could tell by the way they bent and moaned beneath his feet, that it would only take a stomp to send him crashing through them. A moment later when he heard Josh relaying that the second floor was clear, Derek headed for the open doorway.

"Cap, this is Wilcox. There is no sign of Maitland. I repeat, there is no-"

Wilcox, cutting himself off when he heard the creak of a floorboard, spun around to find the target standing in the doorway. Nestor Maitland, barefoot and dressed in a wrinkled pair of pajamas, had emerged like a rat from the cubbyhole where he had been hiding. When they fired simultaneously, Maitland crumpled like a rag doll. Unfortunately for the first sergeant, he was struck in the neck.

Westbrook did not have time to react as Wilcox stumbled backwards out onto the porch, sending them both against the weak railing. He could hear the squeal of the rusted nails and a loud snapping as the wood began to splinter.

Within seconds, the support posts which held up the porch roof began to give way, taking with them part of the rotten bannister. With their combined weight, the railing could not hold them, and as several of the spindles tore loose and fell away, so did the rest of the bannister. There was nothing that Derek could do to brace himself for the impact as he and Wilcox plummeted to the ground below.

The gunfire drew the other members up the stairs, where they found Maitland in a pool of blood. From outside, the remaining members watched in horror as their comrades fell from the second floor.

When they landed, Derek thought he saw a burst of stars and tiny birds when the back of Wilcox's head connected with the staff sergeant's left eye socket, splitting his brow wide open. Wilcox's weapon hit the ground discharging a round that felt like fire as it grazed Derek's right leg.

With the air knocked out of him, Derek, in a state of confusion, weakly pushed against Wilcox to try and stir him. "Come on Wilcox...get up," said Derek as he tried to coax the dead man to move.

"Westbrook! Wilcox! Are you guys alright?" Sandman yelled out as he stumbled through the debris. He immediately got down to his knees, and placed his hand gently on Josh's chest. "Dear God," he whispered as he took a look at the fatal gunshot wound. Handling Sergeant Wilcox's body with care, Sandman gently removed the dead soldier off of Westbrook. "Frost, are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah...I think so." Derek said as he raised a hand slowly to wipe the blood from his eyes. "Josh...fell..."

Sandman shushed Derek as the confused man babbled nonsense."Okay Derek, just hold on."

"Cap, we have one dead, and one injured." Sandman reported. "I advise we vacate the area as soon as possible."

"Roger that. This is a true cluster fuck Sandy. Unfortunately Maitland has a hole in his noggin the size of a quarter, so we're tagging and bagging him now," said Branson. "Who did we lose, and what's the status on the injured man?"

"Wilcox is dead, I am assuming it was Maitland...and Westbrook looks busted up a bit, but I think he's okay."

"Roger, we'll be leaving in five."

Fifteen minutes later, while being loaded onto the transporter, through his one good eye, Derek could see the dark clouds rolling in, threatening snow. He wondered if somewhere high above them, God was thumbing his nose at him for not keeping his promise. _  
_

* * *

After two days of being immobile, the sergeant was forced into bathing. Unable to stand the smell of his own funk and the nauseating smell of blood mixed with antiseptic, he hobbled his way on stiff legs into the shower room.

Looking like a boxer who had clearly lost the fight, Derek leaned against the wall to steady himself. To remove the gunk that had sealed his left eye shut, he gently ran a soft washcloth over the swollen top lid, and then around the blackened socket.

Derek felt shame for not calling Yvonne. And no matter how much he wanted to see his wife and son, the staff sergeant could not bring himself to pack a bag and jump on the highway to Augusta. It had now been four days since his return to Fort Bragg, and still he was feeling out of sorts.

He spent hours trying to dissect the incident to see what he could have done to prevent the outcome. As he ran different scenarios over and over in his mind of the event, he soon found himself plagued by the _what ifs_. He began to feel foolish, because he knew very well that no matter what he conjured up; Wilcox would still be dead.

On the fifth day, Derek found himself sitting across from Sandman. The older man, with a smoldering stogie between his fingers, and a scotch and milk in front of him, rocked idly back in his chair.

"How are you feeling Frost?" asked Sandman.

"I would be ashamed of myself if I were to complain over a couple of scratches," Derek said smiling. "I'm just thankful that the swelling in my eye has gone down some. It was really screwing with my blind spot."

"Amen to that," Sandman commented. "I was told that you were given a clean bill of health, so I would have expected you to be long gone to Georgia by now." Blowing a plume of smoke up into the air, Sandman cut his eyes at Derek. "I know if I had the opportunity to be with my wife and girls, nothing in this world could stop me."

When he caught the insinuation, Derek's smile fell away. Sandman abruptly stopped his rocking, and keeping eye contact with the younger man he leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"Son, I know better, so don't try to bullshit me. I can see it in your eyes that you're spinning your wheels, trying to figure out what you could have done to make what happened go down different. But take it from me, its done and done. Do you understand me? And I guarantee you, that if you don't let it go, you won't last very long with us".

"I have it under control," said Derek curtly. "My frame of mind is in order."

"We both know better than that Westbrook. So not to sugarcoat shit... I suggest you go pack a bag and hit ninety-five."

The following morning he went out to put his bags into the truck, and noticed a note pressed to the windshield. Looking around the lot to make sure he was alone, Derek removed the folded sheet of standard army stationary from beneath the wiper blade. He unfolded it slowly, and scanned it first before reading it.

_Grieve__ the loss of a comrade without shame. Mourn for him, cry for him, and honor him. But never suffer so long that it places you in the ground alongside of him. Spend less time on the dead my brother, and more time with the living._

The neatly scripted note had no signature, and so he assumed it was written by Sandman, thinking the older man was passing onto him a pearl of wisdom. Taking it for what it was worth, the sergeant smiled, folded the note, and stuck it into his jacket pocket.

* * *

With Christian in the livingroom napping in his playpen, Yvonne, in the kitchen chopping up vegetables for a homemade chicken stew, looked up periodically to the small television set on the counter tuned to CNN. As a news correspondent reported on a missing American chemist, she stopped to turn up the volume on the set.

_"-has been linked to several homegrown terrorist cells. Nestor Maitland is also believed to have connections reaching as far as South Africa. Homeland Security has issued-"_

When the doorbell chimed, Yvonne quickly picked up the remote and muted the television. Seconds later when the soft bells rang once more, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and made her way out of the kitchen and to the front door.

"Hold on." She said quietly as possible to not disturb the sleeping baby. "I'm coming."

When she opened the door, she was left gawking and speechless. Staring into the battered face of the man on her doorstep, at first Yvonne could not see beyond the scars, steri-strips, and badly bruised eye. It was not until Derek, holding a dozen yellow roses in his hand and a brown teddy bear under his arm spoke her name, that she finally responded.

"Hello Vonnie sweetheart."

Without saying a word Yvonne slowly wrapped her arms around his waist. Pressing her cheek into the soft fleece of his jacket, Yvonne sighed, but still did not utter a single word.

Derek placed his free hand against her lower back, pulled her close, and planted a kiss to the top of her head. "Well, Sergeant Westbrook ma'am, are you going to leave a fellow soldier standing out in the cold, or are you going to invite me in?"


	11. Chapter 10

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision  
**

**This romance story is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (It is truly not my intention to offend.)  
**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

* * *

When holding his son for the first time, Derek was amazed that the chubby five-month old, still warm from his nap, did not immediately fuss over being in the arms of a stranger.

But the bonding moment did not last for long when Derek kissed Christian on the cheek. When the scratchy stubble grated across the infant's smooth skin, to let his father know how discomforting it was, the infant screamed bloody murder.

"What a set of lungs on this kid," said Derek as he handed the little one over to Yvonne.

"Don't cry mommy's baby," said Yvonne as she held Christian to her chest and rubbed his back. "Daddy apparently needs a good shave."

Later in the day while Yvonne was feeding the baby his supper, the staff sergeant was in heaven as he savored a large bowl of homemade chicken stew. Sopping up broth with a chunk of bread, the sergeant looked across the table at his son and smiled. Christian, with his arms extended and his chubby fingers flexing as he tried to reach the loaf of bread on the table, whined and kicked his feet.

As the child squirmed and nearly sent his bowl to the floor, Derek could see in his wife the patience that Grace had instilled in her daughter. Yvonne handled Christian with a calm that only a mother could possess. Breaking off a piece of bread no bigger than a crouton, she reached across the table and dunked it into her husband's bowl, and stuck it into the infant's mouth.

"He sure has a healthy appetite," said Derek as he watched Yvonne pull her finger out from between the suckling infant's lips. "He's a Westbrook, through and through."

Watching Yvonne wipe globs of rice cereal and mashed sweet potatoes from around Christian's mouth, it brought to Derek's mind memories of his own mother. Remembering Evelyn as she wiped the smudges from his cheeks with the hem of her apron before planting a kiss on his grimy forehead, reminded him of what a mama's boy he had been.

He suddenly felt the urge to call his mother to apologize for crushing her flowers and tracking mud across her kitchen floor. He wanted to thank Evelyn for having the passiveness of Job, and the endurance to bring up three bad ass boys who each turned out to become fine men.

After putting the baby down for the night, Derek tried to put the moves on Yvonne, but the young mother apologetically declined, telling him that she did not have the energy left for foreplay, let alone sex. And although he was in dire need of some good old fashioned bed rocking, Derek did not complain about going without.

The following day, Derek was given a crash course on how to take care of his son. When Yvonne returned home from work that evening, she kicked off her shoes at the door and headed for the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and stood quietly as Derek spoke softly to Christian as he fed him his supper.

Derek had no idea that what he was doing was earning him points. As he asked Yvonne about her day, and told his wife that he had ordered dinner, Yvonne was tallying up the bonus points. He listened with genuine interest as she told him of plans for after her discharge from the military just a few months away. When he volunteered to bathe Christian and put him to bed, Yvonne pulled out her special occasion lingerie, lit candles, and blew the dust off of her Marvin Gaye.

After giving Christian a bath and putting him down for the night, Derek's jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he entered Yvonne's bedroom. He did not have to so much as whisper in her ear to get Yvonne out of her sexy nighty. And just moments after nibbling his way from earlobe to bellybutton, they were fumbling like a couple of virgins beneath the bed covers.

"Well you still got it going on Mrs. Westbrook," teased Derek, tossing back the comforter to cool off. "It is an honest truth that absence makes the heart grow fonder," he said flopping back onto the pillows with a sigh. "Thanks to you, I am tired to the bone Vonnie honey."

"I know the feeling." Yvonne said as she cracked her neck. "That was a work out and a half."

Twenty minutes later, he was propped comfortably against a stack of pillows, with a large bowl of fruit salad in his lap while he watched the evening news. With his baby boy sleeping peacefully across the hall in the nursery, and his wife cuddled up against him in bed reading, Fort Bragg was far from the staff sergeant's mind.

"This is what it's all about, isn't it Vonnie?"

"What is honey?"

"This," said Derek as he pierced a chunk of pineapple with his fork, and placed the piece of fruit against Yvonne's lips. "What we have in our marriage. You know…contentment."

"As satisfied as can be," agreed Yvonne taking the offered fruit into her mouth. To thank him, she planted a sweet sticky kiss to his cheek.

* * *

But two days later, he was not feeling so satisfied when he turned on television in the bedroom and tuned into the news. While watching CNN, Derek stood frozen when he saw a panel made up of four old stone faced retired military men, who were discussing the disappearance of the missing chemist Nestor Maitland. Derek could care less about the theories given by the know-it-all guests on where the chemist could possibly be, because he knew the real deal. "He's a dead motherfucker gentlemen." He said quietly as he turned off the set and headed off to the bathroom.

Not long after getting out of the shower, as he was shaving, Derek felt a headache coming on so strong that it made him nauseous. Dropping his razor, his hands shook as he gripped the rim of the basin. Derek took deep breaths to fight off the nausea, and closed his eyes to stop the dizzying effect. Without thinking, he raised his hand and ran the pads of his fingers slowly around the dry yellow patch of skin around his eye.

As he drew in a sharp breath, without warning he began reliving the event. When he got to where the body bag was being zipped up over Joshua's still features, a quick recall of the death mask that the first sergeant wore sent shivers down Derek's spine. Wiping away tears that he had no idea he had cried, Derek was thankfully drawn out of his thoughts by a light rapping on the door.

"Honey, are you okay in there? Please hurry it up, we need to get going."

"Y-Yeah, give me a minute babe!" Derek shouted out. He instantly regretted it when he felt his headache escalate and he felt his stomach roll. Reaching the toilet just in time, his knees buckled and he went down to the floor. The staff sergeant cursed when the jarring pain shot up into his groin. But the pain was quickly forgotten when he bent over the toilet, and with his back hunched, he let loose.

After a day spent attending the Cherry Blossom Festival over in Macon, Yvonne and Christian were both in bed by eight. Derek, feeling anxious and restless roamed from room to room, as he paced the floors of the small house. Climbing into bed well after five in the morning to awaken just two hours later, had left him feeling punch drunk. When the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted upstairs, Derek made his way down to the kitchen where he found Yvonne preparing breakfast.

"Are you hungry? I can whip you up something quick before Christian wakes up," said Yvonne as she poured him a cup of coffee. "How about a nice egg white omelet, a couple of slices of wheat toast, and some turkey bacon?"

"I would much prefer some home fries, a half a pound of _real_ bacon, four sunny side up eggs, and four slices of toast with lots of butter and jam." Derek croaked out. He took a sip of coffee and flopped into a chair.

"Keep it up Westbrook, and you'll get a bowl of cottage cheese and a piece of fruit."

Each time he looked up from his plate, Derek caught Yvonne stealing glances. He could tell by the way that she was chewing on her thumbnail that she had something on her mind.

"Thanks for the breakfast babe," he said as he scooted his chair out and stood up quickly. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go for a run."

Smiling up at him, Yvonne gestured with a nod for him to take a seat beside her. "I need to chat with you for a spell."

_Damn it to hell_, Derek thought as he sat down beside her. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

"Honey, I noticed that you have not been sleeping well," said Yvonne as she patted his hand. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"I'm good to go Vonnie, just a bit of insomnia, nothing to be troubled by," he said as he pulled his hand back.

"I am well aware that your job is not open for discussion, but how it affects you should be," said Yvonne. "You have been here for four days and have yet to tell me why you showed up on my doorstep unannounced, with your face all battered up like a prize fighter."

"I received a couple of bumps and bruises, nothing major. And that's all there is to it. No more, no less."

"I'm not asking for details, but I know you Derek." Yvonne said softly. "You seem to be out of sorts a bit honey. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Derek knew her intentions were good and that as his wife she had every right to be concerned. But he was not going to go down the road with her over a couple of scrapes.

"Derek, I just need to know if you're alr-"

"It's not the first time I've been injured," said Derek. "Hell, I've gotten worse as a boy."

She startled when he lifted her hand to run over the keloid scar on the side of his head. "Remember this one? I got it in Afghanistan." Releasing her hand, Derek yanked up his tee shirt to reveal a old scar just below his ribcage. "How about this one. Remember when I was showing off for you and I fell out of the tree in my mom's garden? I broke a rib and ended up in the emergency room."

"But what about the scars that cannot be seen?"

"Okay," said Derek with a smirk as he leaned across the table. "Tell me Vonnie about something that you have been affected by while serving. Perhaps a bit of fucked up intel that did not pan out, leaving behind human collateral damage. The kind that left you with feelings of guilt and shame so bad it gave you nightmares. Maybe dozens of civilians blown to smithereens, or due to someone's miscalculations an innocent child was killed."

"You are not making any sense Derek."

Leaning back in his chair he folded his arms across his chest and huffed. "I know what you do for a living Vonnie. I'm well aware that the intelligence community has fucked up on occasion. But then again, you folks who sit in your cozy chairs out of harms way and moving people around like pawns on a fucking chess board don't have to deal with the fallout. So don't forget who you're talking to."

Yvonne narrowed her eyes in warning. "I am not one of your buddies, so stop cursing at me. And you are going off topic and blowing this way out of proportion. I would appreciate it if you would lower your voice and change your tone while speaking to me."

He lowered his voice, but continued to speak in a condescending manner as he snorted and stared her down. "You of all people should not be questioning me on my job, Yvonne. You're not a clueless civilian. And as long as I come to you whole and not in a body bag, don't worry about the small shit. Understand?" He said standing up to leave the kitchen. "So like I said...bumps and bruises, no more...no less."

"Excuse me for being a wife who shows concern for her husband," said Yvonne as she followed him into the living room. "I made no mention of your job, so obviously there is more to this than meets the eye. You have clearly twisted the subject to suit yourself."

"Now you're a psychiatrist," he said smartly as he turned to face her. "Why is it necessary for you to analyze everything Yvonne?"

"I've already told you to watch your tone with me Derek Westbrook," said Yvonne, as she stepped toe to toe with him. "And get that smug look off your face, it looks ugly on you."

"What do you want from me Yvonne?"

"Nothing," she said quietly, as she shook her head in resignation. "Nothing at all." She turned away from him and headed for the stairs. "I'm going to go check on the baby. Maybe it would be wise for you to go for that run now."

That night Derek was finding it difficult to sleep. The tension between him and Yvonne had become nearly unbearable, and so he made the decision that it would be best for him to leave for Fort Bragg the following morning.

Just before four he heard the rustling of linen, and the soft babbling coming through the monitor. He turned the volume down before Yvonne's mommy radar could alert her, and got up quietly from bed to not disturb her. Derek exited the bedroom, and crossed the hall.

With his ear to the door to the nursery, he could not help but smile when he heard gurgling and a soft rhythmic thumping. To prevent startling the baby Derek opened the door slowly. He could see through the slats of the crib that Christian had kicked off his blanket. With his hands in the air and taking uncoordinated swings at the mobile hanging out of his reach above his head, the little one thumped his heels on the mattress as he babbled on to himself.

"Hey bud."

Blowing Derek a bubbly raspberry, Christian suddenly broke into a smile, and began to kick hard enough to make the crib shake. Derek changed the baby's diaper, and then took his little fella into the kitchen to warm him a bottle.

Feeling every bit the proud papa, Derek returned to the nursery and took a seat in the rocker by the window. Christian, with his fingers wrapped around Derek's thumb, sucked like a thirsty calf on his bottle, all the while staring up into his father's face. After his bottle, Derek rocked the infant back to sleep, but did not find sleep himself. He quietly finished packing and then waited for Yvonne to rise.

Three hours later, with his duffel slung over his shoulder he gave Yvonne a quick peck on the cheek. "I can't leave here knowing we are not getting along Vonnie," he said, before adding with hesitation. "Please tell me that you are still my girl, honey."

"I'm still your girl Sergeant Westbrook," said Yvonne as she blinked back tears. "A few disagreements will never change that."

Taking a mental snapshot of his wife in her bright yellow sweater with her hand in the air waving him goodbye, Derek pulled away from the curb. _You need to treat her better, _he thought as he watched her through his rear view mirror.

* * *

For the next seven months Derek watched his son grow from infant to toddler through photos and video conferencing. He had missed his son take his first step, and speak his first word that wasn't babble. And now he was wishing him a happy birthday from miles away.

Sitting on his mother's lap, Christian leaned forward to smear cake icing across the laptop screen. Chastising him, Yvonne wiped his hands along with the streaky fingerprints. "Calm down baby, so daddy can wish you a happy birthday."

"Happy birthday buddy," said Derek.

The staff sergeant, holding up a vending machine cupcake with a candle in it began singing happy birthday to his son. Because she knew her husband's singing could be compared to fingernails scraping across a chalkboard, Yvonne had to keep from wincing, as Derek belted out the tune with all his heart.

But Christian, too young to critique his father's tone deaf version of the song and clearly hopped up on sugar, enjoyed his father's singing. The one year old clapped and sang his own crazy rendition right along with Derek, as Yvonne and the grandparents joined in.

As Derek sang an extended version while lighting the candle on the cupcake, the toddler began bouncing up and down on Yvonne's lap and chanting dada as if his father were a rock star.

After Yvonne gave her husband a look indicating it was time to wrap it up, he ended the song on a long drawn out note. When Yvonne handed Christian off to Derek's mother, the staff sergeant could hear the unhappy wails of his son as the birthday boy was taken out of the room.

"Thank you Derek, for making this day special. We miss you honey."

"Not a problem Vonnie. Please give everyone my love and give the birthday boy a kiss from me."


	12. Chapter 11

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This romance story is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (But it is truly not my intention to offend.)**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

**I may have made a few changes leading up to Operation Kingfish. lol**

* * *

"Makarov?" Cap frowned. "That crazy bastard is a holy terror."

"You got that right," said Sandman. "And so we've been appointed to provide support for the task-force boys as they go on a hunt in the Karkonosze Mountains."

"Well ain't that about a bitch," said Cap with a smirk. "Well, happy trails to you Sandy. And while you're off playing second fiddle to the 141, and traipsing around after a maniac, the boys and I will off to Honduras."

"Good luck with that."

"Hey Sandy, would you mind running a bit of contraband across the ocean for me?"

"All depends on what it is Cap," said Sandman, narrowing his eyes on the captain. "I'm not one for being tossed into the hoosegow."

"It's just a couple of boxes and bottles that I owe to old man Price," said Cap as he gave Sandman a sly wink. "I'll even toss in an extra bottle for your troubles."

"Then it's a solid Cap."

* * *

When they landed at the 32nd Air Base in Lask, the aircraft's hatch opened, and a blustery wind blew swirling snow flurries around the interior. Putting his head down as he exited, Derek's vision was soon a crystal blur as the cold air made his eyes water. Clearing his vision, the staff sergeant, along with his teammates were escorted into one of the large building that usually housed F-16's.

When they entered the hangar, Derek quickly put down his gear, got onto his knees and began to rummage around in his bag for his Excedrin. While he was digging for the bottle of tablets, his teammates had already made their way over to familiar company. When Sandman began to banter back and forth with another man who appeared even older than his mentor, Derek closely observed the interactions of the two veteran soldiers.

"By the way, when you return to the states, I would like for you to inform that swindler Cap Branson, that I am still waiting for the bourbon and cigars that he owes me."

"Speaking of that devil, he wanted me to pass on said items to you, but he also told me to inform you that next time you'll have to pick your winnings up in Fort Bragg."

"The nerve of that bastard," said Price chuckling before pausing when he noticed the staff sergeant. "Who's the young man?"

"That there is Frosty," said Sandman. "He's been with us for about a year and a half now."

"When did Delta start recruiting children? He looks like a tot." Price frowned.

"Frost is older than he looks. And he's a crack shot. The kid probably bagged his first buck while still in diapers."

When Derek heard his name mentioned, he caught the brief glances directed his way by the strangers. As the master sergeant defended his skills, the men glanced once more in Derek's direction, making it well aware to him that he was being sized up.

"Hey Frost, come on over and introduce yourself to these fine gentlemen."

Without saying a word, Derek politely shook hands with the four men, and stepped back to stand next to the master sergeant. He was not one for posturing, but he felt that if they found it their business to size him up, then they deserved the same treatment.

* * *

The quiet buzz of conversation among the men abruptly ended when a Major Durant and a staff of three entered. Durant, serving as Military Attaché to Shepherd, was followed by a no nonsense looking female captain in her thirties, and two male lieutenants in their mid-twenties. Derek watched as the major's entourage on his heels like a pack of nursing pups, nearly stepped on one another to be by the man's side.

"We have received last minute information regarding low enemy presence on the compound grounds. It is my belief that it would be advantageous to the mission if we switch to a contingency plan. It will not be necessary to put so many boots on the ground, and so I have decided that we will go another route."

Derek scanned the faces of the men around him and noticed way too many furrowed brows and tight lips as the major informed them of the new strategy. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Sandman's lips moved, his jaw set tight as he quietly cursed Major Durant for this stupidity.

"-sniper support will be provided by two Delta operatives," said Durant. "Six men in...six men out."

"Excuse me Major Durant sir," Sandman said standing up. "Why the change in plans, and why were we not informed of this by General Shepherd?"

"This was not General Shepherd's decision...it was mine," said Durant smirking. "The general has left me to make the call master sergeant."

"Damn he's a politician in the making," said Grinch. "I would not be the slightest bit shocked if Durant will one day be living in the big white house on Pennsylvania Avenue."

"When power is given to those who spent too much time behind a desk, shit has a tendency to go south," said Price. "I wonder if it would be worth a shot to try and persuade the man to reconsider his obviously stupid decision."

"You and I both know Price, that ass kissing is not our forte," said Sandman.

"You're not bad at negotiating boss man," said Grinch. "How about you and the captain have a talk with him, maybe find a common ground. I'm sure you can convince Major Durant to utilize the manpower at his disposal without kissing the blowhard's ass."

"I guess I'll have to crack a bottle of that sixteen year old bourbon, and share a smoke as well."

Derek and the others watched, as Sandman along with Price and Durant took seats behind the makeshift control center. Amongst the tangled wires, laptops and maps, sat a bottle of bourbon, and a stack of paper cups. Derek could see through the fog of cigar smoke, the shit eating grin on the master sergeant's face as he poured bourbon into Dixie cups and chatted up Durant. When the men tapped the small paper cups together before downing the first of many rounds, Derek smiled with pride as his mentor and Captain Price worked Durant like a marionette.

"He has agreed to allow Truck and Grinch to provide extra sniper support...and another four man task-force squad. That takes us from six to twelve." Price said. "Unfortunately, the others will be on standby."

* * *

Afterwards, as Major Durant held another special meeting with Price and Sandman, most of the others spent the downtime relaxing before the next briefing. Derek, reading a book, sat with his back to a group of men watching two others in a game of chess.

At first he would smile every so often over a humorous comment made by one of the two men playing, and then put his focus back on his reading. But when the conversation went from humorous to hateful, Derek put his book down, and listened in.

"Have you ever been to the Horn of Africa, Gator?" A young sergeant asked his opponent as he moved his piece.

"Hell yeah, Somalia in particular. That shit hole reminds me of the old wild west Poet," stated the brawny blonde specialist. The man leaned in and lowered his voice. "They don't call the natives skinnies for nothing. Those black and starving sons of bitches can slip into cracks and disappear."

"Like fucking shadows they are," said one of the spectators.

"Man, I had to bite my fucking tongue raw to keep myself from calling them niggers around the wrong ones, if you fellas know what I mean," said Gator before snickering as he captured his opponent's bishop.

Huddled up like a small band of conspirators, their words were spoken low, but their laughter was loud and boisterous. Derek could feel his pressure rise as he listened to the men behind him laughing it up as they spoke candidly_. _The laughter grated on his nerves as the leader of the band, the loud mouth specialist from Louisiana kept adding fuel to fire.

"I don't know which ones I hate more, those darkie motherfuckers or them fucking sand niggers in Afghanistan."

With that last comment Derek heard the sound of a metal chair scraping across the concrete floor, as one of the men politely excused himself. When the staff sergeant looked up, he made eye contact with the soldier as he was passing by. Derek recognized the look in the eyes of the Australian to be one of apology, as the man separated from the others and made his way towards the exit of the aircraft shed.

The staff sergeant was not naïve to the fact that racism existed in the military, but it had been years since he had been witness to it. Although he was far from shocked to find it within the ranks of the multinational group of the so called elite, it did not mean that he was any less disappointed by it.

Before he opened his mouth and created an incident, Derek thought it would be best to leave. Slamming his book shut, he got up from the table. And as he passed by the offensive men, he made sure to get a good look at each of their faces and committed them to memory.

Fighting with himself not to return to the hangar and start a ruckus, Derek went in search of Truck, who was on the lookout for a quiet spot for them to do their ghillie suit mending. There was something about the first sergeant that reminded Derek of his father. Like Drew Westbrook, Truck was a man who rarely held idle chit chat and was as laid back as they come.

Derek and Truck could sit in the same room for long periods of time without ever mumbling a single word. Although the first sergeant was a very knowledgeable man and could speak on just about any subject, Derek was satisfied that Truck preferred silence over debate.

He found the first sergeant standing in the cold with his hands shoved in his coat pockets and his collar pulled up, as he gazed across the horizon at two F-16 fighter jets returning from a training mission. Derek pulled up the hood on his fleece and trotted over to the fence where Truck stood seemingly unaffected by the harsh wind and flurries.

"I sure could use a bit of quiet time," Derek said as he squinted against the blowing crystals of ice. "Were you able to find us a spot?"

"I found us a Quonset hut behind the hangar that we could use that has a kerosene heater, and a few lanterns," said Truck without taking his eyes off of the fighter jets. "I'll meet you back at the hangar in five."

And true to his word, Truck returned and moments later they were placing their canvas bags on a table inside the hut that sat in the shadow of the huge building. Truck and Westbrook unzipped their bags and removed their suits and spread them out. Bringing out their baggies filled with bundles of dyed burlap strips and sewing essentials, the two set about making repairs.

As the wind blew hard enough to rattle the corrugated metal hut, the two sat in the glow of lanterns and worked without speaking. Although the task was both tiresome and tedious, the men found that the chore relieved tension and anxiety brought on by what they called mission jitters.

Two hours later Truck began packing up. "Well my man, I'm finished up here. I think I'll head on back over to do a double check on my gear."

"Catch you later." Derek said as he cracked his knuckles. "If you don't mind, could you pass along to the boss man that I'll be back in time for the final meeting?"

"Not a problem."

Not two minutes after Truck's departure Derek felt the rush of cold air as someone entered, and he looked up to find the hate monger pulling the door closed. Whistling as he brushed the fine crystals of snow from his hair, the specialist greeted Derek with a smile. The staff sergeant immediately identified Gator's toothy grin as that of a cheesy salesman. So hoping to dissuade him from sticking around, Westbrook lowered his gaze and continued stitching.

"Nice work. Do you mind if I take a look?"

"As a matter of fact…I do," said Derek finally looking up and hoping the man would take the hint.

"What a creative way to recycle items," said the specialist, ignoring Derek's comment as he picked up a patch of canvas. "Is this from a rucksack?"

Derek gave a sigh. "Yes it is." He snatched it from between the soldier's fingers and placed it out of his reach. "If you don't mind, I really need to get this done pronto."

"I see. Well, um…nice work," said the blonde before turning away. When Derek snorted, the man turned back to face him. "You know what, there's no need for the cold shoulder partner," said the specialist as he spit tobacco juice onto the floor at the same time giving Derek the finger. "And being Delta don't make you no god."

"First off, I'm not your partner. Secondly I'm not buying what you're selling. And lastly...you go fuck yourself."

"You got a problem with me boy?" Gator questioned Derek as he took a step forward.

"If you're here to recruit, you might as well back pedal your ass on out of here."

"Recruit? Recruit for what?" Gator's voice went up an octave as he feigned shock. "I'm just trying to make small talk with one of my brother's in arms."

"Look, I don't care what imbecilic assholes like you do, as long as you keep it to yourselves. But when you go spouting your ignorant bullshit within earshot of others, you deserve more than a cold shoulder. Unfortunately I have to accommodate your ass because I'm ordered to, but don't mistake it for anything else. We're not brothers in arms, and we are damn sure not pals. You understand?"

"You sure are a might rude for a compatriot. Didn't your mama raise you right son?"

"Here is what I'm offering. For one time only, you win a get out of an ass whooping card," said Derek as he went back to work. Seconds later he looked up."You're still here? Are you dense?"

"Really, you think you can take me?" The soldier asked as he puffed out his chest with confidence. "Do you really think you can kick my ass boy?"

"On my wife and child, I will kick your ass to Kingdom Come."

"Hm, that's quite brave of you son," the specialist huffed. "Am I to presume that your wife is a ni-?"

"Say it you backwards motherfucker," Derek ground out between clenched teeth, as he jumped up quickly from the table tipping his chair over. He pushed against the table, moving it forward to bump against the man's thighs. "I fucking dare you."

As the specialist balled his fists and began to make his way around the only barrier between the two, the door suddenly opened and in stroll Truck.

"Hey Frosty, I think I left my smokes-," said Truck before breaking himself off and eyeballing the specialist. "Is there a problem in here?"

"Nah Truck, there's no problem. This fella and I were just shooting the breeze, but he's leaving now…am I right?"

"Yeah, I was just leaving," said the specialist as he spit once more and backed away slowly until he got to the door. "You best thank him for saving your life boy."

Truck waited to hear the slamming of the door before speaking. "I heard what he was on his way to saying."

"How in the hell do you tolerate folks like him?"

"He means nothing to me. I have been dealing with guys like him my whole life," said Truck as took a seat. "Men like him consider Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols heroes and martyrs. Now, I'm not one for jumping up on a damn soap box, but you know our government has been training homegrown terrorists for decades. That good ole boy that just left here is more of a threat to our nation than any foreign enemy will ever be."

"So when a bigot spreads his hatred... I'm to ignore him?" Derek asked as he began scooping up the unused materials from the table and shoving them roughly into baggies.

"I guess what I am supposed to say at this time Frosty, is that you need to learn to ignore men like him. But don't get it wrong," said Truck with a low chuckle. "If that had been my wife he was on his way to insulting, that boy would have walked away with his belly full of teeth."

Derek could not help but to laugh as he imagined the specialist being left with a gaping maw of bloody gums and busted up lips. "Would you have knocked them all down his throat Truck? Or would you have left him a few so that he could eat his humble pie?"

"Aw hell no! He would have swallowed each and every one of those damn things."

"His ass outweighed me by at least thirty pounds. And he had a good three inches on me too. He would have probably kicked my ass, but I would not have gone down without putting up a hell of a fight."

"Yeah he was a big boy Frosty, and would have probably torn this hut down kicking your ass. It's a good thing that I showed up," said Truck snorting laughter. "Otherwise Yvonne would have been mad as hell if that boy had knocked all of your features crooked and ruined your good looks."

And with the running joke being that he favored a Hollywood pretty boy, Derek put his hand up to stop Truck before he could taunt him. "Okay that's enough man," said Derek, trying to be serious, but continuing to chuckle.

"You know what Frost," said Truck tilting his head, "in this lighting, you do look like-"

"Don't you dare say his name."

As they were leaving the hut, Derek frowned and tugged on Truck's sleeve to get his attention. "Wait a second Truck. You said you returned to the hut for your cigarettes."

"Yeah, I know."

"But you don't smoke."

* * *

At 0300, Derek was shaken out of his sleep by a forceful hand. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see Sandman glaring down at him. Derek, the left side of his face streaked in sleep lines and his eyes bloodshot and puffy, wiped the crust from his bleary eyes. In a state of confusion he looked around at his surroundings to try and get his mind straight.

"I take it that this is not Kansas Toto," he croaked out in a voice still heavy with sleep.

"Not in the mood son. I've been trying to stir you now for nearly three minutes, so don't force me to put boots to ass Westbrook. Get up and get in gear."

"Damn Frosty, it looks as if your corpora cavernosa is full son." Truck gestured with a nod at Derek's crotch. "I know it's healthy for us virile men to pitch a tent, but damn you could put someone's eye out with that thing."

"Very funny," groaned Derek as he headed for an unoccupied portable toilet. Upon entering he could see that others had struggled as well, as the seat was soaked in urine. Refusing to sit down, Derek looked down and blew out his cheeks as he tried to convince his morning erection to cease so that he would not piss in his own face. "Come on. Please go down."

"Let's get a move on Westbrook!"

"I'm trying my best boss," shouted Derek as he grasped his manhood and forced it down. "Fuck," he hissed out as he hosed down the back of the seat before finally getting it under control.

When he stepped out of the small compartment, he was met by his teammates led by Sandman who clapped and whistled the loudest. "Good for you Frosty, you finally tamed the snake! Now get your ass dressed," said Sandman. "Oh, and try not to get your balls twisted up in those tights that you fancy wearing under your clothes son. I'd hate to see you lose one."

The laughter from the last crack followed him as he slowly got into his gear. _I'll get you back for that one old man_ he thought with his eyes narrowed on the master sergeant's back.

By 0340 they were all geared up and heading for the waiting aircraft on the tarmac. With a granola bar between his teeth, Derek rolled his eyes up as Sandman and Grinch carried on like it was the middle of the day. It just proved who had gotten the most sleep the previous night.

"Time sure is getting away from us," said Sandman. "I could have sworn that I just had a birthday. Damn, I can't believe October has swung around so soon."

"You are more than right about that," said Grinch. "My baby girl turned ten this past July. Man, I can remember when she was just a tiny thing and I was her world. But now I've been replaced by some little fella who makes millions singing about shit he has no idea of, and another little fella in her class by the name of Algernon."

"What about your boy Frost? I reckon he is raising hell by now." Sandman asked.

"From what Yvonne tells me, he's more of a grandma's boy than a hellion," said Derek while shoving his prayer bead necklace into his pants pocket. With the door open for payback, he took a jab at the master sergeant. "And speaking of birthdays boss, remember Christian's is just five days after yours. My buddy will be turning two on the fifteenth. And how old will you be again? That's right…you're looking at what…fifty?"

When Truck and Grinch chuckled, the master sergeant mumbled that he would be turning forty-four in two days. Derek felt vindicated as he walked ahead of him. _Touché. That's what you get old man for busting my balls_ he thought with a triumphant smirk.

Entering the V-22, the operatives greeted the others with subtle nods and took their seats across from them and strapped themselves in. As he fell into a light doze, Derek could hear the pilot speaking as if he were far off.

"Good morning all," greeted the pilot, looking over his shoulder. "Next stop...the spectacular Karkonosze Mountains. Please enjoy your flight gentlemen."


	13. Chapter 12

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This romance story is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (But it is truly not my intention to offend.)**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

**I have made a few changes to Operation Kingfish.  
**

* * *

"We have just crossed the border into the Czech Republic," informed the pilot. "We'll have you boys on the ground in five."

After landing, Team Metal gathered their gear and moved ahead of the task force. Sent to scout out the lay of the land, the four Delta operatives headed north, and within minutes they disappeared into the woods. The pine needles and moss that covered the ground like a carpet dampened their footfalls as they made their way into the forest.

As they traveled deeper into the wooded area, it began to grow denser. Along with the heavy and hazy mist, the closely compacted foliage and snapping of brittle branches forced them to slow their movements to avoid discovery.

After legging approximately two kilometers, the four men emerged onto a wide grassy plain. With frozen dew crunching beneath their boots as they crossed the frost covered ground, the four stopped at the foot of a rocky slope.

Climbing the hill where the grass was taller and offered more concealment, Truck and Frost using spotter scopes, took a quick but thorough survey of the surrounding area. The two men, with the patience of hunters, took their time before assessing the situation.

"You see those two motherfuckers that keep vanishing behind that building just to the left?" Truck asked bringing his scope down and turning to Frost.

"Yeah."

Bringing his scope back up, Truck looked off to the west. "I think one team should set up on that rocky ledge over there, just to be on the safe side. So partner, how about we go six and nine?" Truck asked.

"That's fine by me," answered Derek, as he stifled a yawn. "Do you want to flip for who heads west?"

"No need, you and the old man can have this position. Grinch and I will head west," said Truck, with a devilish grin and wink of the eye."We could both use the exercise."

The two carefully made their way back down the hillside to relay the findings. Grinch, sitting with his back against a large stone, bit into a granola bar, and stopped to dust the crumbs from his beard. "So give us the low down boys."

"We will set up positions here, and to the west of the compound. The buildings are mostly squat blocks, but there are two structures that impede our line of vision from this vantage point. However, it would not be an issue from a hill just to the west. You and I will set up here at the south end, boss," said Frost pointing towards the slope.

With vapor rolling like smoke each time he exhaled, Derek covered his mouth as a precaution to prevent detection. Patting through the thick weave of burlap strips, Derek unzipped a breast pocket and pulled out his good luck charm. Doing something he had never done before, Derek put it to his lips, and said a silent prayer before wrapping it around his wrist.

While Sandman was communicating with Price, Derek took the time to appreciate the beauty of the landscape. Frowning on the eyesore that ruined the otherwise pristine mountain setting, the staff sergeant looked beyond the compound. "My my aren't you a big boy," he whispered as he spotted a ten point buck, and a small doe nibbling from a bilberry bush.

Shifting his hips to get comfortable in the cold wet grass, the staff sergeant thought of how a hot venison stew would hit the spot. Taking another look through his sight, he chucked low as another buck, this one a six pointer wandered out to join the other two.

"Metal zero-three, we are in position," said Sandman. "Do you copy?"

"Roger that Sandman. What do you have eyes on?"

"I see four targets to the east and west of what appears to be barracks."

"That's a solid." Confirmed Grinch.

"I guess we'll settle in and wait for the real stars of this show to emerge," said Derek, as he took his eyes off of the deer.

"Not in awe of them I see," said Sandman, as he nudged Frost.

"Should I be? They're here just like we are. And unless they can walk on water, or raise the dead, they are no different." Derek said, as he trained his sight on a target casually strolling across a rooftop. "Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure they can come out the other end of a meat grinder without a scratch on them. But, those one-four-one fellas put their boots on one at a time just like the rest of us."

Cocking an eyebrow, Sandman said, "You sure have a way about you Frost."

"I know boss." Derek said. "Now watching Mother Nature strut her stuff for us…that's impressive."

"Impressed by nature, but not by man."

"As it very well should be." said Derek.

With that being his last word, Derek focused on the task at hand. With a keen eye, he could see the tops of the trees bend westward, as the wind cut across the valley. When he heard Sandman saying that it was time to stir the hornets nest, Derek got ready.

When the master sergeant whispered instructions to fire, Derek, with his lips pressed tight kept in mind that there was no room for error. He had to make sure every shot count. In less than a minute, Frost and Truck had taken out the guards. Derek spotted eight dark figures emerge from the mountain forest, four moving forward, while eight hung back.

Just moments after Sandman communicated to Spectre six-four that they were clear to approach, Derek looked up to see the gunship coming overhead. The heavy plane flew over the valley, its presence alone was threatening as it made its way over the compound.

When Price requested that a path be cleared, an explosion rocked the compound, and all hell broke loose. It was then, as the area was flooded with enemy, that Sandman and the others knew that Durant had dropped the ball. Expendable came to Derek's mind as he cursed. "Shit, they're coming out of the woodwork!"

"We need to get the hell down there," yelled Sandman as he pushed against Derek's shoulder. "We can't stay up on this hill. Truck, Grinch, it's time to break camp, boys."

"Roger that. We're on our way," replied Truck, as he stood up. "Time for us to come out of hiding, partner."

Derek was accustomed to confusion and fear in battle, but this was the first time he ever felt that he was running for his life. Firing over his shoulder as the swarm began to close in on them, Derek never felt so close to death.

Even through the thick layers of burlap fibers, he could feel the heavy sniper rifle thump against his back. While his teammates had torn off their jackets to not hinder progress, Derek soon found the flaw in his design when the zipper got stuck on the flight suit.

When loose strands caught on the thorns and branches of the trees, he began to panic as the enemy began closing the gap. Twisting around to try and free himself, he quickly became entangle as the long thorns pierced the fabric of the suit. "Son of a bitch!" Derek shouted as a thorn dug into his leg.

"Calm down!" Truck yelled in Derek's ear as he yanked on the tangled strips of cloth, and snapped the branches to free him. Wide eyed and out of breath, he tried to thank the man, but the first sergeant growled and shoved the younger man forward "Thank me later!"

"Spectre six-four, we need you to clear a path for us," ordered Captain Price.

"Roger that, Bravo-six."

A sense of relief was felt by all, as they saw the gunship arrive. As the small band of soldiers fought their way across the field, their respite was short lived. From his peripheral vision, Derek could see the back-blast from a Javelin. An orange ball of fire shot from the back of the launcher as the missile headed for the aircraft. He and the others knew it was useless as the pilot tried to bank right to prevent being struck.

Feeling a rush of hot air so forceful that it blew the hair back from his forehead, Derek heard a dull thunk as a piece of hot and smoking metal, the size of a soda can landed behind him. If he had been a fraction of an inch taller, the staff sergeant would have been found laid out with a piece of metal embedded in his skull.

They could only watch; stunned to the point of mouths hung open, and eyes wide as the gunship was obliterated.

"Don't give them the opportunity to flank us! Move, dammit!" Price yelled out. "If we don't get the hell out of here, they'll soon have us back to back."

As Sandman made contact with the chopper pilot to inform that they were in need of extraction, Derek could see no fear in the older man's eyes, as he screamed into his comm for the pilot to shake a leg. Popping smoke, Sandman instructed everyone to lay down cover fire to draw the attention of the enemy away from the south end where the V-22 would be approaching from.

Derek knew that five minutes on the battlefield was enough time for him and the others to be reduced to nothing. They had already lost three men in the time it took for them to fight their way out of the forest. Derek had been serving long enough to know, that he had no real control of whether he lived or died in the chaos.

But Staff Sergeant Derek Westbrook would try his best to not die and be left to rot in the mountains so far from home. He set it in his mind that if it got down to hand to hand, he would do whatever it took to get out alive.

Just as the Osprey came into view, Derek heard someone holler out "RPG," but it was too late. MacTavish was knocked off his feet. As the man was being drug off the field by force, Derek and the others provided cover fire. Down to six men, Derek looked to Captain Price for leadership. What he did not expect was to be ordered off the field. With the captain dead set on sacrificing himself, Derek and the others headed for the chopper.

As the ramp was slowly closing, Derek was pushed aside as Sandman shouted out for the pilot to wait. As he tried to convince the men to not leave Price on the field, Derek could not tear his eyes away as he watched the captain disappear beneath the horde. When the hatch finally closed, he stood there for a moment staring at it, unable to turn around to face the disruption going on behind him.

"That fucking pogue Major Durant, tossed our asses into a goddamn shit-storm," a task force member said. "He's responsible for this cluster-fuck."

While Sanderson and Riley were trying to soothe the combative captain, tensions were running high for everyone involved. Derek, still standing with his eyes on the closed hatch took long deep breaths as he felt his last nerve about to snap.

Forcefully unzipping the suit and pulling it down around his waist, Derek finally took a seat between Sandman and Truck. With the adrenaline wearing off, he could feel a numbing tingle, and then a burning sensation along his legs and arms. Examining the red itchy blotches that had formed to cover his limbs, he ran the pads of his fingers gently over the swollen areas, and felt the warmth radiating off of his skin.

With their voices low and even, Sanderson and Riley had calmed the distraught MacTavish, but he was still refusing treatment for his wounds. Derek could not make out over the sounds of the chopper what the men were saying, but he could see that they were trying to administer first aid to the captain. When Roach attempted to apply gauze over MacTavish's injured eye, Derek frowned in confusion when the captain pushed the younger man's hand away.

Roach tried once more to persuade the captain, but MacTavish shoved the sergeant, causing the man to stumble back against the wall of the chopper. Derek startled when the first aid kit fell from Sanderson's hands, its contents clattering to the metal floor. A roll of bandages bounced and unraveled like a roll of toilet tissue. When it stopped at his feet, Derek could feel his teeth grinding in his ears as his last nerve finally snapped.

"I think that's enough," Derek said between tightly clenched teeth. "Someone needs to get a handle on this."

"Calm down, Frost. The man is in a bad state, but his comrades are handling it," said Truck. "So, just mind your own."

Scoffing at Truck's words, the staff sergeant ignored him. But as he began rising from his seat to offer assistance to Sergeant Sanderson, he was shocked to find that he was being held back by Sandman. Holding Derek by the upper arm the older man shook his head as if daring the younger sergeant to try him.

When Derek tried to jerk away, the silent power struggle ended just seconds later. Sandman, knowing just where to apply enough pressure to make Westbrook stand down, dug the tips of his blunt fingers deep into the bicep muscle, forcing Derek to sit back in surrender.

With their teammates watching, Sandman whispered harshly into Derek's ear. "Believe me, they have it under control. They know him better than any of us ever will, so take Truck's advice and just mind your own."

Those words, _mind your own_ brought back a memory of another time when he had stepped out of bounds. Closing his eyes and ears to the commotion, Derek went back in time to his childhood.

_"Scamp, honey I have told you time and again to keep your nose out of folks business," said Evelyn. "It is not your place to get into grown people's affairs."_

_"But-"_

_"No buts Derek! What has gotten into you? You just got let loose for shooting those boys, and now you're cursing and threatening folks. You are about to wear me ragged."_

_"But he called Auntie Lihn out of her name!" Derek growled and paced the walkway. "He called her a real ugly name!"  
_

_"That doesn't give you the right to call the man out of his. And Uncle Raphael can handle folks on his own, he doesn't need you defending your Auntie Lihn," Evelyn sighed heavily. "Go upstairs, wash your face sweetie, then go directly to your room. Understand me?"_

_"But mom-"_

_"Don't whine. You're not a baby, Scamp. And like I said...you mind your own from here on out. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes ma'am."_

* * *

"Are we square, son?"

"Yeah, boss, we're good," said Derek, tossing his duffel into the cab of his truck. "You knocked me off of my pedestal, I get it."

"You know damn well that was not my intention, Derek."

"Even so, I was in the wrong, and now it's over boss," he stated as got into his truck. "I just need some time to clear my head and take time to be with my wife and little boy. I'll see you in a couple."

Four hours later as he was hauling ass over the Virginia state line, Derek caught a quick glimpse of a familiar blue sign with a bright red Cardinal and Dogwood flowers, welcoming all to the state for lovers. "Almost to you Vonnie honey," he said softly as he took a sharp left off of the black top. The wide truck tires spun and kicked up a dust cloud and stones as he turned onto the back road shortcut. "One more mile."


	14. Chapter 13

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This romance story is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (But it is truly not my intention to offend.)**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

* * *

Built before the Great Depression, the houses along Magnolia had once been owned by families who made their riches from the hard work of others. But with the passing of time the old money families had died out. Most of the houses on the dead end road had either been condemned and razed to the ground, or sold. The large houses were bought and renovated by out of town folk, who were more suburban and citified than the soulful down home local residents.

The Westbrook's, whose house sat at the very end of the cul-de-sac had been purchased by Derek's uncle back in 1980 for next to nothing. The colossal house that had seen better days, still held most of its original fixtures, but was in need of repairs.

As Johnny Cash sung a mournful tune of angels coming for him, Derek bobbed his head and drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. As the Cheyenne slammed up and down on its suspension down the dirt road, Derek bounced along with it. Although his spine was taking a beating, the staff sergeant had never felt so good. And the closer he got to his destination, the further his troubles were left behind.

Just before turning onto Magnolia, Derek stopped to allow a woman escorting two little ghosts to cross the street. She smiled and waved a thanks and continued on. Just that small gesture of courtesy was one of the things that he truly missed about small town life. Driving past the homes with luxury cars and big sport utility vehicles parked in the driveways, Derek pulled up into the gravel driveway of 1215 Magnolia, and parked behind Yvonne's second hand Prius.

Stepping up onto the large wrap around porch, Derek couldn't help but smile when a large resin jack-o-lantern set on a wicker chair, emitted a goofy laugh and wished him a happy Halloween. All he needed was for his wife to greet him with a caramel apple, and he would have felt like a boy again.

When he entered and saw his wife with their child on her hip, the bag slid from his shoulder to the floor, as he chuckled. Christian, dressed as a bright green pea pod, put on his best toddler scowl while Derek laughed out loud at the little one's expense.

"Trick or treat!" Yvonne sang out, as she handed a popcorn ball to Christian. "Give it to daddy honey."

Christian, who was clearly perturbed over being dressed up as a vegetable, put the treat to his lips and angrily tried to gnaw through the cellophane wrapper. Before Yvonne could get it out of his hand, Christian hauled off and threw it. When it bounced comically off of Derek's forehead and landed on the floor, Christian giggled like an impish little demon.

"Christian! Tell daddy that you're sorry honey," said Yvonne in shock.

"Hell, I'd throw shit too if I was forced to dress up as a pea pod," said Derek as he took Christian out of Yvonne's arms. "It's okay bud, daddy understands."

"You're not around your buddies anymore Derek, so watch your tongue."

After handing out treats to all of the little ghouls and goblins, Yvonne had Derek set the table for supper. As she was blessing the food, Derek's eyes roamed over the steaming bowls and platters of food. It had been a long time since the sergeant had indulged in a home cooked meal, and he could not wait to dive in.

Before she could even offer him one, Derek took a warm dinner roll from the breadbasket and shoved it into his mouth. And from that one roll alone, he could tell that his wife's dishes were prepared with love. When Yvonne placed a large slice of honey baked ham onto his plate, he rubbed his hands together like a starving man.

"You have outdone yourself Vonnie," he said while putting piles of collard greens and candied sweet potatoes onto his plate.

"Now don't get all excited Mr. Westbrook. This is your one and only down home meal, so enjoy it, because you'll be eating light from here on out."

* * *

The following morning at about six-thirty, Yvonne was pulled out of her comfortable slumber by Derek's snoring. When he rolled over, he mumbled gibberish, and suddenly and without warning let out a loud and very noxious trumpet of gas. Yvonne knew that was her cue to leave the bed. "Oh dear Lord, no more candied sweet potatoes and pork for you honey," she whispered as she fanned her hand across her face.

Overnight, the unseasonably cold October weather had left a chill throughout the drafty old house, and Yvonne pulled on a pair of wool socks and put on her robe before leaving the room. Down in the large vestibule, Yvonne felt a breeze blowing through the gap beneath the entry doors. Rolling up the shaggy throw rug and placing it across the bottom of the double doors, she took a mental note to put weather stripping on her to-do list.

Stopping in the living room to turn up the thermostat, she crossed her fingers and listened for the click and rumble of the old furnace. Sighing in relief Yvonne made her way into the kitchen. With thoughts of a new heating system, she put on a kettle for tea, took a seat at the table and opened her laptop.

Since leaving the military, Yvonne had found that finding decent employment was hard to come by. So taking advantage of the peace and quiet, she began a search for employment opportunities. Although she had been an integral member of the intelligence community, she found that in the civilian world, it was difficult finding a job where she could use her skills.

It had been nearly a year since she had applied for a position with the Department of Justice. After jumping through all of the hoops and getting clearance, she was still waiting for a call for an opening in the intelligence department with the DEA. Working part time in the administration office over at the local middle school was not what she had in mind for a career, but not one to be ungrateful, Yvonne felt blessed to have the job.

An hour passed by and she had gone of track, as she found herself searching through heating and cooling contractors. Wishful dreaming was one of Yvonne's past times. But always the practical one, she did not dream of fancy paint colors or throw pillows. Yvonne's big dream was to have a new furnace.

When the house phone rang, she quickly hurried to answer. "Hello?" Yvonne smiled as the person on the other end spoke. "Good morning to you too, Gavin."

With slippers whispering across the linoleum as he shuffled into the kitchen with Christian on his back, Derek stopped and kissed Yvonne on the cheek. With his eyes still filled with sleep, he croaked out a good morning, handed the child off to his mother, and headed for the Mr. Coffee.

But when he heard mention of an unfamiliar man's name, Derek's curiosity peaked. Leaning with his back against the counter, he examined her closely, reading her body language. As she twirled the cord of the old Ma Bell phone around her finger, her snickering reminded him of when she was a girl. That alone suggested to Derek that whoever Gavin was, he should not be calling Derek's home and making his wife perform like a schoolgirl.

"Okay Gavin. Have a safe trip and I will see you when you get back," said Yvonne before hanging up.

"Who's Gavin?" Derek asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "A fella you work with?"

"Actually he's a fella that I volunteer with over at the veterans center," beamed Yvonne as she put Christian into his booster seat. "He's really a nice guy, I think you would like him."

"Hm."

"Hm what Derek?"

"Nothing babe," he went to the counter and picked up a mug. "I'd like to meet your friend...Gavin."

Detecting a hint of mistrust in her husband's voice, Yvonne responded teasingly. "Only if you get rid of the suspicious tone in your voice Mr. Westbrook," she said before kissing him on the cheek. "When he gets back from his trip to DC, I will invite him over for dinner."

Five hours later, with Christian holding onto to her leg, Yvonne stood at the kitchen sink running water over a colander filled with chopped vegetables. Looking out into the backyard she watched Derek and his older brother Christian, chopping and stacking wood. She knew that it would not be long before the two would disappear into the garage to start cracking open and draining bottles.

* * *

"Say brother, how about we call it a day. We have chopped and stacked at least a cord," said Chris placing the axe against the stump. "Let's go build us a fire in the old wood burner, and have us a couple of cold ones."

"That sounds like a plan."

He turned the dampener on the old wood burner, opening the flue to release the smoke from the chimney pipe jutting out of the garage roof. The white smoke rolled out into the crisp autumn air, along with the smoky aroma of oak. "Man it doesn't get any better than this Chris," said Derek as he opened the door on the stove and tossed in another chunk of wood.

"Ain't that the truth," said the older man. "So Derek, is Uncle Sam still treating you right?"

"I can't complain." Derek passed his brother another cold beer from the old Hotpoint refrigerator. "He pays my bills so all is good."

"Boy this old garage holds a lot of memories," said Chris, as he looked around at the collection of organized junk. "You and Uncle Ray spent many a day out here tinkering around. He seemed to be one of the few people who understood your wild ways."

"I was a handful," said Derek. "And not ashamed to admit that I was a real mama's boy as well." He laughed and chucked his empty bottle into the bin.

"My namesake seems to be quite the mama's boy himself," said Chris chuckling. "Have you seen the way he holds onto Yvonne's legs and apron strings?"

"Yeah, he takes after his daddy."

"I don't like to pry Derek, and Lord knows you and Yvonne are good parents, but do you think that maybe it's because you're not around much, that Christian is so attached to her hip."

"You were military Chris, and your boys are fine."

"But they're military brats Derek. Outside of my deployment to the Middle East, my family went wherever I went. Samantha and the boys followed me to Germany, Japan, and even Hawaii."

"So what are you saying?"

"Maybe it's time for you to start thinking about Yvonne and Christian. Perhaps it's time for you to stop traipsing around the world after bad guys."

"I thank you for speaking your mind," said Derek, his words coming out more defensive than he intended. "But like you said…you're not one for prying."

After drinking nearly a quarter of a case, and with the heat from the wood stove adding to their tipsiness, Chris decided it was time to hit the road. As he slid behind the wheel of his truck, he left Derek with something to think about. "If you leave the door open for too long on the hen house...a straying rooster might find his way in," he said smoothly before starting his truck and pulling away.

Standing in his driveway, Derek finally caught on to what his brother was hinting at. As he slowly made his way up onto the back porch, his mind was conjuring up a wolfish man out to seduce his wife. With his buzz now ruined, he made his way into the house where he found Yvonne standing at the stove with her back to him.

As she reached across the counter for a bowl of chopped carrots, the wave of dark locks brushed across her back. Listening to her humming softly to herself, Derek wondered how he could have missed how long her hair had grown. And how long had it been since he complimented her on her looks, or gave thanks to her for holding down the fort in his absence.

"Hey Vonnie girl," he said as he leaned against the doorway.

"Shush, I just put Christian down," she scolded, looking over her shoulder at him. "And take off those boots, you're tracking mud Derek." Yvonne shook her head over his inconsideration. "And please wash up, you smell of wood smoke."

As she mumbled under her breath, Derek crossed the floor to stand behind her. Gently brushing her hair to the side, she stilled when he planted a beer scented kiss to the back of her neck. Running his cold lips across the nape of her neck, he then whispered into her ear."Have I told you how beautiful you look today Mrs. Westbrook?" Placing his hands along her waist, and running them down over her hips, he leaned forward and pressed his weight against her back. "I love you so much Vonnie."

She had a feeling that his attempt at seduction was brought on by the alcohol, but she was still flattered by his effort to entice her. When he wrapped his arms around her, Yvonne forgot about the muddy boot prints and the acrid smell of burnt wood in his clothing. Turning in his arms, she placed her hands on either side of his face and smiled. "Thank you Derek."

"I'm sorry that I haven't told you lately how much I love and adore you Yvonne," he said. "And I am truly thankful for you honey."

"I know that, Derek," she said as she brushed her thumb over his cheek to remove a sooty smudge. "I know."

"You'll always be my girl, Vonnie."

"Always and forever."


	15. Chapter 14

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision  
**

**This romance story is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (It is truly not my intention to offend.)  
**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

* * *

When he heard a motorcycle engine so loud that it shook the panes of glass in their frames, Derek stood up from the sofa and looked out of the living room window. As the biker was pulling into the Westbrook's driveway, the sergeant smirked and began making his way to the door. But before he could open it, Yvonne stopped him.

"Be on your best behavior," she said and nudged him in the ribs. "I'm serious Derek, behave yourself."

As the man was dismounting from a vintage chopper, from the porch Derek began to take notice of little details. When Gavin tucked the loose strands of shoulder length blonde hair behind his ears to reveal small gold hoops in both lobes, Derek huffed.

Wearing a black tee beneath a well worn denim shirt, and a pair of aged button fly Levis, the thirty-three year old Gavin Summers was not what Derek expected. From the long hair down to his scuffed motorcycle boots, Gavin's genuine rough boy look put Derek off from the start.

As he made his way up onto the porch, Derek caught the slight limp as Gavin favored his left leg. As he gave a dimpled smile, Derek could see where the biker boy probably turned the heads of certain women, but certainly not his wife's. He knew Yvonne loved a military man with hair cut tight, and preferred neatly pressed jeans without holes.

Although Derek never took stock in his own looks; let alone another man's, he could not help but take note of the man's eyes. Not just garden variety blue, but they were an Elizabeth Taylor stunning blue. _What's your story?_ Derek thought as he smiled and shook Gavin's hand.

"Nice to meet you," said Gavin as he gripped and shook Derek's hand with the enthusiasm of a politician.

Stepping out onto the porch, Yvonne greeted her friend with a quick hug. The loose embrace was friendly enough for Derek, but when the man addressed her as Vonnie, Derek could feel the green monster inside of him, rear its head._ Vonnie? Did this bastard just call my wife Vonnie?_ He thought as he narrowed his eyes and walked behind them as Yvonne escorted Gavin into their home.

* * *

After Yvonne repeatedly refused his offer to help clear the table of the supper dishes, Gavin sat nursing a beer while under the watchful glare of Derek. When the staff sergeant finally spoke, Gavin flinched, his right eye twitching as Derek leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.

"By the sound of your accent, I'm guessing that you're from the Midwest. Where from exactly?" Derek asked.

"I'm originally from Illinois," replied Gavin. "Chicago to be exact," he added quickly. Nervously rubbing his hands along his thighs, Gavin glanced at the swinging door that led into the kitchen.

He had hoped Yvonne would come through it and save him from what he thought was leading to an interrogation by Derek. But after twenty minutes, he breathed easy when instead of being grilled, Derek entertained him with stories of his boyhood. Gavin laughed as Derek told him of the advice given to him by his older brother, on how to put the moves on Yvonne to win her heart. Yvonne came out just in time to hear Gavin telling Derek about an incident involving his dog Brutus.

" -there I was, naked as a jaybird and hopping around on my lone foot, all the while trying to impress the gorgeous Alex."

"You have got to be kidding me," said Derek chuckling. "Seriously, your dog really ran off with your prosthetic leg?"

"I found it under the kitchen table where he keeps his toys."

"So…are you still seeing Alex?"

"Who?" Gavin asked, as his right eye suddenly twitched again.

"The gorgeous Alex who you were…you know…"

"Oh Alex! No, we're not seeing each other any more."

"So is there another special lady-"

"Hey honey, you know Gavin was a staff sergeant in the Air Force," said Yvonne as she quickly changed the subject.

Derek had never known Yvonne to rudely interrupt and it threw up a red flag. Keeping a poker face, Derek turned his attention back to their guest. "How long did you serve?"

"I was active for about seven years. Signed up when I was twenty-one. You know, thought maybe I could make a difference. I served with the 55th Rescue Squadron," he said proudly. "I think it's because I've always been a thrill seeker that I found it up my alley."

"Did you serve in Afghanistan?" Derek asked.

"Hell yeah. It's where I left my leg," said Gavin.

"Sorry to hear that man. Was it an IED?"

"Nah it was not an IED," said Gavin. "Check this out. About eight months into my second tour, we were on our way to a rescue mission in the Kandahar Province, when our Pave Hawk suffered a malfunction. That bad boy took a nose dive, hit the ground and broke apart like a goddamn tinker toy." Subconsciously rubbing his fingers along the long indented surgical scar running up his left thigh, Gavin fought to control the tick. "How ironic. On my way to a rescue and I had to be rescued my damn self," he laughed lightly.

"Damn," said Derek.

"I was manning the machine gun when I was thrown from the chopper before it hit the ground. My left leg shattered like a piece of kindling and tore off just above the kneecap. Unfortunately I was the only survivor. Man I thought I was going to fucking die. It ain't nothing like in the movies that's for sure. I didn't give no dramatic fucking speech like they do either. There was no telling a comrade to tell my girl back home, or my parents that I was a warrior. Instead, I pissed my pants and cried and screamed like a lost child. I think they gave me something just to shut me the fuck up." He paused and then chuckled. "You'll never see that in a blockbuster war flick."

"That must have been horrific for you," said Derek.

"Yeah, our crew was tight, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about those guys."

When the heat from the old radiator forced Gavin to remove the long sleeve denim shirt, Derek eyed the intricate tattoos that sleeved both arms. When he spotted one in particular, his brows knitted as he scoped it out amongst the skulls and vines_. No, this can't be right _Derek thought as he looked across the table at Gavin. _You had me fooled motherfucker._

"Tell me Gavin...what do you do for a living?"

"I work as a drug and alcohol counselor at a VA clinic. And as you already know I do volunteer work over at the veterans center in town." Gavin winked at Yvonne. "Which is where I met your very lovely wife."

"Uh huh," said Derek, with a hint of slyness in his voice. "My wife is a very lovely woman," he said as he kissed Yvonne on the cheek.

"All of the clients adore her," said Gavin with a smile. "She inspires them."

"I take it that she inspires you as well?" Derek asked.

"You can say that."

"Listen Gavin, you seem like a really nice guy, but I think you're not being on the up and up here." Derek leaned back in his chair. "I'm a pretty observant fella. It's part of my job to make quick notice of others. And to be blunt, I think you're hiding something."

"Derek…," Yvonne started.

"I don't…understand. Did I say something wrong?" Gavin asked as he looked from Derek to Yvonne. "I'm not hiding anything. Why would I?"

"You correct me if I'm wrong, but judging by one of your tats, I get a feeling that at some point in your life, you were running with some bad boys." Derek snorted and pointed to the tattoo of a pair of hob nailed boots and hammer on Gavin's left bicep. "Are you a reformed bad boy Gavin? Did you run with a group of hateful bastards back in the day?"

"Derek, that's enough," said Yvonne with her lips pressed tight as she warned him.

"Did you know about this Yvonne?" Derek asked, the tone of his voice condescending and accusing.

"It's okay Yvonne, he has every right to ask," interjected Gavin, putting the long sleeve shirt back on. "I won't lie to you, I was a bad kid and I did run with some nasty people back in the day. But I'm not that guy any more. Please believe me, that life I lived was a long time ago."

"So what's a former skin head doing hanging out with my wife?"

"Like I said, I'm not the same-"

"I got that part!" Derek slammed his fist on the table, knocking his beer bottle over.

"Derek, leave it alone now. He's already told you."

"I didn't ask him about his reformed ways, Yvonne. I asked the bastard how come he's hanging out with a married woman?"

When Derek stood and made his way around the table. Gavin stood up as well. When the staff sergeant took a step towards him, the other man backed up slowly with his hands up as if in surrender. Before he could defend himself, Derek had snatched Gavin by the front of his shirt, and slammed him against the wall, rattling the china cabinet.

"So you found a woman whose man is not around thinking you could sweet talk her into bed?"

"N-no! Of course not! We're just friends!" Gavin stammered as he shook his head. "R-Really...I would never-"

"Stop it Derek! Let him go!" Yvonne yelled as she grabbed Derek by his wrist, and looked back and forth between them. "Gavin...just tell him."

"Yeah Gavin! Fucking tell me, before I choke it the fuck out of you!" He slammed him once more against the wall, making the porcelain in the china cupboard shake violently. A large bowl on top rocked back and forth until it teetered on the edge and then finally crashed to the floor.

"He's gay!" Yvonne yelled in Derek's face, and then took a ragged breath as tears of embarrassment and anger flowed down her cheeks. "You're such a bastard Derek!"

"Now that you know, you can get your fucking hands off me dude," said Gavin through clenched teeth, as he shoved Derek away. "And she's right man, you are a fucking bastard."

Gavin looked at Yvonne who opened her mouth to say that she was sorry, but then she suddenly closed it when he shook his head back and forth, as if to say _don't bother_. Without saying a word, he turned away, gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder and headed for the front door. When they heard it slam shut, and moments later the roar of the motorcycle as Gavin sped off, Derek turned to Yvonne.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

Yvonne got down onto her knees and picked up two large pieces of the shattered antique soup tureen. She put them together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and then let them fall to the floor. After going to the kitchen for the broom and dustpan, she quietly swept up the mess and dumped the pieces of the bowl into the garbage bin. As she removed beer bottles and wiped down the dining table, he followed her around like a puppy.

"I have to get up early to pick up Christian from my mother's," she said quietly as she went around turning off the lights on the first floor. "I am going to bed. You'll find clean sheets and blankets in the linen closet. I haven't gotten around to changing the ones in the spare rooms, so you're on your own."

Stopping at the bottom of the staircase, she suddenly felt worn out. Before saying anything further, Yvonne had to gather her thoughts before she spoke. "You embarrassed not only me, but my friend as well. You had no right Derek." She said wearily as she began to climb the stairs. "I'll be lucky if he speaks to me after this."

"What did you expect me to think Vonnie? A single man hanging out with a married woman whose husband is away most of the time. Come on now." Derek said trying to turn things to his favor as he followed behind her. "And why in the hell didn't you tell me that the man is a former skinhead? How in the hell could that have slipped your mind."

"I would expect you to trust me, and my judgement. That is what I would expect from you. But instead, you disappointed me."

"Once again, I'm sorry honey."

"You're always sorry," she said. "Sometimes Derek, you act like that little boy who used to hang out in trees, jumping into situations without first thinking about the consequences."

"So you take no blame in this?" He asked her, suddenly realizing that he had spoke harshly. "You just conveniently forgot to tell me that the man was a former-"

"Don't say another word!" Yvonne turned on him so fast that he stepped back and nearly fell down the stairs. He had never seen her features set so hard, or so ugly and mean. He could see the veins stand out on her neck as her chest heaved.

"As my Auntie Maxine would say...if you knocked it crooked, you best make it straight. And I swear before God, that before you leave Virginia, you had best make it straight, Derek." She turned on her heels, entered their bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

The Bottoms was just that; a deep bowl of a valley that sat so low, that it was always in danger of flash flooding. It had once been a prospering district, but when businesses left the area in the late seventies, it left the Bottoms a ghost town. And like the abandoned warehouses and rusted railroad trestles running along the east side of town, the Bottoms was no more than a rusted hunk of a small rural town with less than fifty residents left.

Derek drove across the tracks, and down the steep hill leading onto the main street. With its littered sidewalks, boarded over shop windows, and buildings covered in graffiti, the Bottoms was a world to itself. Appropriately nicknamed meth-alley, the main drag had more than its share of drug dens and dealers.

Derek pulled up and parked his truck in front of a large yellow brick tenement building. With a six pack in hand, he made his way to stand in front of twelve buzzers, his eyes going over them until he found the one marked G. Summers.

Five seconds after he rang the buzzer, the entryway door lock clicked and he entered the building. The long hallway, dimly lit by low watt bulbs forced him to squint, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lighting. On both sides of the first floor corridor were heavy steel doors, the apartment numbers on them either missing or worn down.

As he stepped over a bicycle left in the middle of the hall, light flooded the end of the long corridor when an apartment door opened on the right. Derek froze when he saw the massive head and powerful shoulders of a Rottweiler as it emerged out into the hallway. The dog growled, the rumbling sound threatening enough to make Derek take a step backwards. He took a second to think that maybe Gavin was not so forgiving. Glancing over his shoulder to judge the distance to the entry door, Derek wondered if he was fast enough to make it there before being pounced on and torn to shreds.

"Stand down Brutus, he's cool," Gavin's voice echoed out as he ordered the dog to heel. "Give me a sec Derek while I lock my buddy in the bedroom."

When he entered the apartment, Derek had to turn sideways to squeeze past the motorcycle in the hallway that led into the living room. "Welcome to my humble abode," Gavin chuckled. "And when I say humble, I seriously mean humble, man."

"Thanks for agreeing to see me," said Derek as he handed the man the six pack. "I can't apologize enough about the other day Gavin."

"So this little visit wasn't forced upon you by the strong willed Mrs. Westbrook?"

"Well maybe being in the doghouse has something to do with it, but mostly it's because I fucked up, and my folks didn't raise me to be a jackass."

"Maybe I should have been up front with you, so I apologize as well. It's just that I'm not comfortable with everyone knowing."

While Gavin went into the kitchen to put the beer in the refrigerator, Derek removed from the sofa books and piles of magazines before taking a seat. Looking around him, he noticed that although the apartment was sparsely furnished, there were stacks upon stacks of reading material covering whatever furniture there was. The apartment in his eyes was not dirty, but was more cluttered. The ashtrays were not overflowing, there were no empty take out cartons, or beer bottles littering the place.

Beneath the barred windows sat the frame of a old Indian motorcycle, the rare bike in the early stage of restoration. He got up to take a look at a huge collage made up of photos of the 55th hanging over the mantle. Some included witty titles, while others just the names of the men and women in the pictures. Looking closer, he spotted one of Gavin in his gear posing in front of a Pave Hawk helicopter with two others, a female senior airman and a male lieutenant. He had to squint to read the caption that was scrawled above their heads.

The Three Amigos: SrArm. Sarah "LadyBird" Crowley SSgt. Gavin "Babyface" Summers and Lt. Alex "Gorgeous" Keyes. When Derek reached up and ran his hand over the photo of the trio, his fingers landed on the pilot, and something clicked in his brain. "Huh, so you're the gorgeous Alex," he whispered.

When Gavin came in with two open bottles, Derek had already returned to his spot on the sofa, and was flipping through the pages of a book. Gavin handed Derek his beer, knocked a stack of motorcycle magazines to the floor from a chair, and took a seat.

"So, I guess we should start off right this time," said Gavin. "So what shall we talk about?"

"I'd like to know how you went from a bad boy to become the fella that my wife has taken a shine to."

Derek gave his full attention as Gavin began his story. He revealed to him a childhood filled with the classic dysfunctions; alcoholism, child abuse, domestic violence, and self loathing brought on by confusion over his sexuality. He explained to Derek how his feelings of worthlessness led him on a search for acceptance and love.

"My parents may have been God awful folks who should have never had a child, but one thing is for certain, they were not racists. I learned that bullshit on the streets after I ran away from home at fourteen. I was a weak minded kid who hooked up with a bunch of folks with very low moral standards. In time I became a drug runner for a twisted and monstrous motherfucker, who soon had me believing the source of my problems stemmed from not having enough Aryan pride. And before I knew it, I had also become a twisted and monstrous motherfucker who turned his self hatred outward, and unleashed a wrath onto those who did not deserve it."

Gavin explained in detail, when he was taken off of the road to perdition, and set on the path to redemption. He told the sergeant that it happened on his nineteenth birthday, when he hit a patch of black ice and was thrown from his motorcycle like a rag doll into a pumpkin patch. He spoke lovingly about the elderly couple Morgan and Eliza Johnson, who had literally and figuratively saved his life on that desolate country road in the small village of Manito Illinois.

"Here's the kicker Derek," he said as he scooted to the edge of his seat. "I had just passed the Johnson's a mile back before I crashed. They were in an old beater truck going about ten miles an hour. I pulled up alongside of them, gave them the old middle finger salute, called the old man a nigger, and then took off down the road."

Gavin sat back and lit a smoke before continuing. "If it had not been for the Reverend and Mrs. Johnson, I would have lain in that fucking field and bled to death. And you could best believe it when I tell you, that if I had died, my own mama would not have claimed my body from the morgue. My sorry ass would have ended up buried in some forgotten plot in Potter's Field. But because of two strangers, I got a second chance. And up until they both passed on, Morgan and Eliza Johnson were my family."

When his eye began to twitch and tear up, Gavin crushed his cigarette out and dug into the eye socket with the heel of his hand. Watching this, Derek began to feel for the man who had befriended his wife, and that Derek had run out of his home. If Gavin had the notion to call him a asshole or even worse, the staff sergeant would accept it without dispute.

"You've lived a hard life."

"Don't get me wrong. I may have received most of my education in the school of hard knocks, but I'm not looking for sympathy," said Gavin reaching over to slap Derek on the knee. "I just want you to see what's beyond the cover."

"I'm genuinely sorry that I misjudged you," said Derek.

"Not a prob, Derek. Are we copacetic, my man?"

"Yeah, we're in excellent order Gavin."

As he was leaving, Derek stopped in the hallway and turned around. "Just one question. The story you told about Brutus and Alex, was it true?"

"Of course it was," said Gavin smirking.

* * *

Derek made his way upstairs to find Yvonne giving Christian his bath. Kneeling in front of the tub with her shirt soaked through, she reached in and removed two large rubber ducks. Setting them on the tub rim, she gave Derek a look that told him that it was time for him to take over.

"You were right Vonnie, he is truly a good guy," said Derek getting down on his knees beside her. "I can see why you took a shine to him."

"Makes you thankful for what you have. Am I right?" She asked him.

"Yes it does," said Derek as he picked Christian up out of the bathtub and wrapped him in a big fluffy towel. After planting a kiss to the squirming toddler's warm cheek, Derek turned to Yvonne and smiled. "So...am I out of the doghouse Mrs. Westbrook, ma'am?"

"We'll see."

* * *

Weeks had passed since Derek had left Virginia, and for Yvonne life went on as usual. When Evelyn and Drew took Christian for a weekend, Yvonne spent Friday with her mom, and then Saturday with her aunts. The diva aunties arrived at Yvonne's around noon, with bags of groceries and bottles of wine. They immediately headed for the kitchen, where they began to cook up a storm. The kitchen was soon filled with mouth watering aromas, as Yvonne and her aunties worked their culinary magic.

A few hours later, the women were gathered at the table, eating, drinking, and having a good time. Yvonne was feeling no pain as she downed her third glass of white wine. She was in stitches as her aunts spoke about their sister Adele and her uppity ways. But the laughter ended when Yvonne took a call from Gavin. Maxine narrowed her eyes on her niece and tsked. Folding her arms and cocking a finely arched eyebrow, the older woman mouthed for Yvonne to get off of the phone. When she hung up, Maxine started in on her.

"So Baby Sis, now that your man is back off to God knows where, I guess you're spending more time with that bad boy from down in the Bottoms?" Maxine said as she tapped a cigarette in the palm of her hand.

"Auntie Maxine, you make our friendship out to be scandalous. Well it's not. Gavin is a very kind and caring man. And he's a true friend."

"Hm. I think that boy has a thing for you," said Maxine lighting her cigarette and fanning the smoke. "It's not right for you to be hanging out with a man when your own man is gone."

"He's just a friend."

"Hm, I think he's kind of cute and wild looking," said Shirley using a deep and sultry voice. "You know what I mean? I wouldn't give a damn if he had no legs, I bet he would still be a handful between the sheets. Have you seen the way he straddles that bike? I bet that boy could wear an ass out from front to back!"

"Get your old mind out the gutter Shirley," laughed Maxine. "You're lucky Grace isn't here. She would drag you off to church."

"He kind of favors that one boy," said Janice. "You know the one...he plays on that one program with the motorcycle gangs."

"Goddammit Janice, your mind slips more than the transmission in my old Buick, girl," chuckled Maxine.

"You know the one. He's the cute blondie that plays on that damn motorcycle show with that other fella. The big chin fella who was in that show with the tough Terminator chick. You know...on that other program a long while back, where he was a lion man or some shit," slurred Janice, as she scrunched up her face in concentration. "Dammit to hell! I can see the boy's face, but I can't think of his damn name."

Turning to Yvonne, Shirley spoke low. "Every time she has more than a few, her old ass starts babbling about folks looking like other folks. Last Wednesday at dinner your auntie Janice got tipsy on margaritas, honey. And when we stopped at Food City on the way home, she said that the old man working the deli counter looked like Bill Cosby."

"Hey! I can hear you. I'm not deaf dammit," said Janice before hiccuping. "That old bastard did look like Bill Cosby!"

"Her ass needs to stop drinking and watching so much television," murmured Shirley.

"It's alright Aunt Janice, I know who you're talking about," said Yvonne chuckling as she patted the helplessly inebriated woman's hand. "I'll put on a pot of coffee for you. And it might help if you give Auntie Maxine back her flask."

"Yes sister Jan, your drinks are cut off," said Maxine as she snatched the whiskey flask out of her sister's hand.


	16. Chapter 15

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision  
**

**This romance story is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (It is truly not my intention to offend.)  
**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

* * *

"Here's the last box from the coat drive," said Gavin as he set the large cardboard container on the table.

"Thank goodness," said Yvonne. "Now to get Mr. Tompkins to pick out one that suits him will be a chore."

"Speaking of our elderly radical," said Gavin with a chuckle, as he nodded towards the door. "Here he comes now."

"So when do you think the Russians will come a knocking at our front door?" The elderly man shouted.

"I don't think they will Mr. Tompkins, sir," answered Gavin. "And even if they did, I don't think they would be able to make it beyond the defense systems."

"It doesn't rightly matter no how. The Old Testament God has a way of exacting revenge on folks. Our nation seems about due for payment on shit we've gotten away with for years." The old man smiled wryly. "What if God decides it is time for us to pay up?"

As Yvonne began digging through the box of donated winter wear in search of a warm winter coat for the elderly veteran, she and Gavin took the man's words with a grain of salt, but allowed him to ramble on. She knew that the lonely widower just needed an ear to bend, and so she and Gavin always showed the Vietnam vet respect.

"You believe in the wrath of God, sir?" Yvonne asked the elderly man.

"You damn right I do! We have had our boot heels on the throats of the oppressed for way too long, darling. And although Jesus may be a loving fella, his daddy believes in vengeance. Good old fashioned fire and brimstone shit."

"Well, you do make a point. We are an arrogant nation," replied Gavin. "I can't deny that one."

"You're damned right about that biker boy!" Mr. Tompkins cackled. "From the time folks set foot on this land and stole it from its rightful owners, we set ourselves up to be a people of self importance." He laughed raucously as he pulled from the box a raggedy mink stole, and wrapped it around his neck. "Now this is what I call a good find son."

Yvonne laughed lightly, as she ran her hand over the fur. "And it's classy too, Mr. Tompkins."

"Thanks pretty lady."

"I think for the time being, we should just focus on digging through this box and finding you a nice winter coat," said Gavin trying to get the old man's straying attention back on track. "We can't have you out in the cold come this winter without a good coat, Mr. Tompkins."

"Son, the way I see it...if the Russians come knocking on our door, I don't think I'll have need for a coat."

Not long after Mr. Tompkins had strolled out of the center with a large blue down coat under his arm, Gavin volunteered to lock up the center. Waiting for him in the shade of a tree, Yvonne stood digging through a large purse in search of her keys and cell.

When Gavin joined her, Yvonne huffed as she pulled her phone out, but still could not find her keys. Just as she was about to voice her frustration to him, four jets suddenly flew overhead. Looking up, Yvonne and Gavin shielded their eyes as another four flew over, followed seconds later by the long drawn out whine of the siren on top of the old water tower.

"What the fuck," whispered Gavin. With his words buried beneath the roar of aircraft and the blaring of the siren, he added, "Those are not ours."

"My God, they're flying mighty low," Yvonne said. "What do think is going on, Gavin?"

"I don't know Vonnie, but maybe Mr. Tompkins was right," he said. "Maybe the wrath of God is upon us."

Searching his face, Yvonne could see that Gavin was serious. With her eyes never leaving his, she tried to contact her in-laws, but oddly she could not get a signal. She tried her mother, but still no signal. With Mr. Tompkins voice in her head warning of the nation's comeuppance, Yvonne could not get her mind to process the possibility of war on their home turf. As the minute hand of the courthouse clock hit a minute after six, the bulbs in the old fashioned lamp posts in the square dimmed, and then the power went out.

When she looked up to see Gavin holding out his helmet to her, she took it without being asked twice. Putting it on, and fastening the strap beneath her chin, Yvonne hiked up her long flowing skirt and climbed onto the bike behind him. Slinging her purse across her chest, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Hold on tight, because when we hit the road, we'll be hauling," he spoke over his shoulder to Yvonne. "But don't worry. I promise not to dump your ass on the road lovely lady."

"Thanks...I appreciate that!" She shouted in his ear.

Yvonne, who had never been on a motorcycle, felt the deep vibration run through her, as Gavin revved the engine. As they took off out of the town square, Yvonne closed her eyes and held onto her friend. After hitting the main drag it wasn't long before Gavin was clocking seventy, forcing Yvonne to tighten her grip around his waist. With his hair blowing back to tickle her cheeks, the silky strands brushing her face felt nice to Yvonne. With the constant vibrating, and her bare legs pressed against his hips, for a moment she had forgotten the present danger. _  
_

Entering the residential area, Gavin slowed down, and he could feel her tight hold on him loosen. Sitting at a stop sign, Gavin looked back at her and chuckled over her peachy blush. "Sexy ain't it? Maybe you should convince Derek to get one."

"That's not a bad suggestion," she said breathlessly. "And I can totally see why some women find bikers sexy," she said.

When they turned onto Rosebud Lane, they saw more fighter planes streaking across the skies. And as they cruised along, Yvonne stared at the residents gathered on the manicured lawns. With their necks craned back, mouths agape and eyes wide and frozen in fear, it brought to her mind an old Twilight Zone episode. She leaned forward and spoke into his ear. "Is it just me, or does this whole scene look creepy to you?"

"Nah...it's not you," replied Gavin. They look like fucking manikins."

* * *

The mid-August heat had driven Evelyn and Christian out into the early evening shade that covered the backyard. With a large ceramic bowl filled with freshly picked green beans, she took a seat in a wicker rocker as her grandson, with a soccer ball tucked under his arm, took off down the back porch stairs.

"Christian, keep that ball out of Nana's flowers."

With the bowl in her lap, she waved her hand to shoo away a large bumble bee as it hovered in front of her face. For Evelyn Westbrook, the simple joy of being in her garden on a lazy summer evening, and watching her grand baby, was enough for her. As she pulled the strings and snapped the crisp beans in half, she looked up periodically to check on Christian. Watching her grandson spin around in circles until collapsing onto the grass, Evelyn shook her head and smiled. But when Christian got up and stumbled around, her mouth fell open when the child eventually veered off, and tumbled over a small wooden fence to land in a bed of her flowers.

"Christian Westbrook! Get out of my flowers honey!"

"I'm a dizzy loon Nana!"

"You got that right child," she mumbled setting the bowl down and making her way to him. "Really Christian, you have got to be more careful. Honey you're killing grandma's begonias." She scolded him and helped him to his feet. "Look at you, you're covered in soil."

"Nana, when is my daddy coming home?"

"I don't know sweetheart," said Evelyn as she dusted him off and then wiped a smudge from his cheek. _You are truly your daddy's spitting image_ she thought as she kissed him on his sweaty forehead. When Christian put his head down, Evelyn put her finger beneath his chin and forced him to look up at her. "Hey honey, how about we go inside, and you help old Nana beat down the bread dough?"

"Okay Nana," he said smiling up at her. "Can I feed Jesse and Frank too?"

"Sure honey. When Pap gets back from town, you can help him feed the old hounds."

When four Russian fighter jets flying in formation flew overhead, Evelyn Westbrook thought nothing of it. On their tails were four more that were flying so low that she could see the pilot through the canopy of the aircraft. Evelyn did not know one jet from another, but she was well aware of the threat since the airport incident. Taking her grandson's hand, she quickly led him back up onto the porch. "Honey, it's time we go inside now," she said.

Christian, who had no idea of the danger, hopped around the kitchen on one foot while singing a nursery rhyme. Evelyn, with her hands shaking, took the large bowl of risen dough from the top of the refrigerator. Just as she set it on the kitchen island, she heard the low drawn out whine of the civil air siren off in the distance. Within seconds, the low pitch gathered until it had grown to full blast. Looking at the clock on the microwave, she saw the green illuminating digits flashed 6:01 PM before the power went out altogether.

_No Evelyn. You know better_ is what her practical mind was thinking, but that did not stop her from drumming up bad images of war. So that she could make phone calls without being distracted, she had Christian take a seat at the table, calmly made him a sandwich and poured him a glass of milk. But when she picked up the receiver to call her husband, her fear escalated quickly when she put it to her ear and discovered that the house phone was dead.

"Nana what's wrong?" Christian asked when her saw the worried look on his grandmother's face.

"Nothing baby," she said with a forced smile. "Just eat your sandwich honey."

When the siren suddenly wound down, the silence only made her more aware of approaching danger. But when Evelyn heard a motorcycle pulling up into their driveway, she knew it had to be Yvonne's friend. With Christian on her heels, she ran out the front door to find not only Gavin, but her daughter in-law as well.

Yvonne climbed from the bike and ran to pick up Christian."Hey mommy's boy," she said and kissed him on the cheek, before setting him on his feet.

"Yvonne dear," said Evelyn trying to control the tremble in her voice. "Honey, there's something wrong, isn't there?"

"Yes, I think so," said Yvonne low enough for her son not to hear. "We need to get the family together quickly. I need you to keep Christian while I run over to my mother's."

* * *

An hour later, a group of adults sat speaking in hushed tones around the Westbrook's dining table. After listening to updates on the crank radio from Drew's emergency kit, they had to come up with a plan.

"The last update was an hour ago," said Drew. "Now that the power is out across the tri-state area, and they're calling for evacuations, we'll have to assume that things are not going well. With the emergency shelters already filling up, and the interstates becoming jam packed, I vote we head for the hills."

"Grace and Maxine, have you heard from your sisters?" Asked Drew.

"No we haven't, Drew. They're up north in Pennsylvania visiting with family," said Maxine. "They are probably a hell of a lot safer being there anyway."

"Son, I hope you brought your hardware," he asked his eldest son.

"I sure did, including Samantha's," answered Chris.

"Okay we have eight adults and three children. I think if we pull together and clear all of our pantries, we should be good for a bit."

"Make that seven adults," said Gavin as he stood up from the table, "I wish you folks all the best, but I really need to get going. My dog Brutus is probably going nuts."

"Son, you can't go running around out there like it's any given Sunday," said Drew. "Times like these, folks have a tendency to go stir crazy. The last place you need to be going is down into the Bottoms. I think you should stick with us."

"Trust me, I'll be fine, sir," he said as headed for the front door.

"I'll go with you," said Yvonne, speaking quickly. "That way we can pick up my car from the center," she said jumping up from the table and chasing after him. When Yvonne heard Maxine holler out for her to come back to the table, for the first time in her life, Yvonne disobeyed her elder auntie.

"I know what you're trying to do, but honestly, I'll be fine on my own," said Gavin. "I suggest you go back inside and be with your family."

"You are a part of my family," she said with a defiant look on her face. "So let's get going before it gets too dark. The sooner we get back here, the better."

"You sure can be a stubborn one," he said with a deep sigh before climbing onto his bike. "Well come on and climb aboard, because there is no use in arguing with you."

The town square was abuzz as the news began to spread of an invasion to the north. When a local sheriff's deputy tried to convince Gavin and Yvonne to seek shelter in the basement of the municipal court building, the two ignored him and headed for Yvonne's car.

Twenty minutes later, as they slowly drove along Main Street in the Bottoms, Gavin noticed the contrast in the two towns. The Bottoms appeared eerily deserted. Not a junkie, whore, or dealer strolled the littered streets. He thought about what Drew had said earlier, and decided that he and Yvonne needed to move fast. When she got out of her car, he ushered her into the apartment building.

"We have to hurry up, it's starting to get dark," he said.

Before Gavin headed into his bedroom to pack, he told Yvonne to go into the bathroom to grab a large med kit that he kept in the cabinet beneath the sink. Pulling a footlocker out of his bedroom closet, the first thing he pulled out of it was his stash of weed. Removing a false bottom for the chest, he retrieved three handgun cases, and a sawed off.

Setting clips of ammo, and two boxes of shells on the floor, he took from the closet shelf an older model prosthesis, and placed it on the floor behind him. While Brutus sat on his haunches beside his master, Gavin quickly packed whatever he could into the large canvas bags and met Yvonne in the living room. He put Brutus on his leash and grabbed the dog's traveler. "Come on, we have to get the fuck out of Dodge."

Sidling up to Yvonne to sit at her feet, Brutus lowered his head and whined. "He's looking for you to pet him," said Gavin. "He's not too fond of dudes being around, but he does love my female friends." Gavin chuckled as he shouldered one of the bags, and held the other out to Yvonne.

"Why do you think that is?" She asked as she ran her hand over the dog's fur.

"Maybe it's because most of them are usually trying to sweet talk me out of my Levis," he laughed.

As they exited the tenement, they were caught off guard when a young man stepped out from the side of the building. Brutus immediately bristled and snarled. Gavin tugged on the growling dog's leash and commanded Brutus to heel. The young man, dressed in black, sauntered out and pulled up the hem of his t-shirt to display a handgun tucked in the waistband of his baggy jeans. Gavin stared into the light gray eyes of the baby faced hold up man, and he knew for sure that behind those eyes, that the lights were out. Gavin knew that this made the boy dangerous and probably lacking a moral compass.

Thick, dirty blonde dreadlocks that fell down past his waist, swayed back and forth as the young man bounced on his toes. Gavin recognized the jitterbug like movements for what they were. _He's cranking hard_ Gavin thought, never taking his eyes off of the weapon. He thought about what Drew had said about desperate times making folks stir crazy, and he wanted to kick himself for not being prepared.

"Hey white boy! Where in the hell are you and your lady taking off to?" The young man questioned in a deep voice that did not fit his youthful appearance.

"Dude, my old lady and I are just trying to get out of town before the shit hits the fan," responded Gavin with a laid back tone in his voice. "We're not looking for trouble, dude."

"Listen up white trash, I will be taking those bags, and the keys to the car," the teen said as he pulled the handgun from his waistband. He pointed it at Gavin and sneered. "Hurry up cracker ass cracker!"

"Yvonne, go get in the car," whispered Gavin as he began to step in front of her.

"Bitch, if you move, I will kill you!" The boy turned the gun on Yvonne, but kept his eyes on Gavin. "I'm not playing! If that bitch moves, I will blow her motherfucking head off!"

When the kid waved the gun at Yvonne, she dropped the bag, and suddenly had the urge to pee. Brutus, detecting the danger, went from low growl to barking viciously and began to pull on the leash. Gavin knew that he had to calm the dog or the kid could get skittish and shoot. As he tried to get the animal to stand down, the more aggressive Brutus became.

"Man, you better shut that motherfucker up!" The young man yelled as he put the gun back on Gavin. "If you don't shut that fucking dog up man, I will shoot him, and then your hoe!"

"Hold up dude." Gavin said while keeping his voice even. "Don't shoot, just chill okay. Just take the bags, man."

When Brutus suddenly broke away from Gavin, there was no time to think as gunfire echoed out. There was a yelp and then silence as Brutus fell to his side, and a pool of blood slowly spread out beneath his head. As the assailant stood in shock, Gavin reached out and grabbed the boy by the wrist. "Motherfucker! You junkie motherfucker! You shot my dog!" While trying to wrestle the weapon away from the attacker, the gun went off three times, the rounds ricocheting off of the bricks. "You bastard!"

Yvonne backed up, until her back was against the side of her car. She wanted to help Gavin, but she was afraid that she would only make it worse, and so she could only watch as he fought to wrestle the gun away from the youth.

Although he was by far taller and stronger than the boy, Gavin found that he was caught in a struggle with the wiry teen. When the gun went off again, the round grazed Gavin's wrist, but he did not release his hold. He kneed the teen in the groin, forcing him to release the gun and go to his knees.

Gavin was soon in the middle of having a devil on one shoulder, and an angel on the other shoulder moment. Mumbling to himself on whether or not to kill the kid, he suddenly stopped when he chose to side with the devil. Raising the weapon slowly to put the boy in the bulls-eye, Gavin put his finger on the trigger.

Yvonne slowly stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his lower back. "Leave him," she said softly. "Gavin, he's just a kid. Let's just take care of Brutus and then get out of here. It's getting late."

Ignoring her, Gavin pressed the muzzle of the gun against the young man's forehead. And when the young boy began to beg for his life, Gavin reveled in watching the kid squirm. He could barely hear Yvonne's soft words begging him to let the young man walk away. Gavin knew she was attempting to reel him in before he killed the boy, and he did not want to feel the warm touch as she put her hand over his.

He did not want to release the boy just yet, because in Gavin's opinion, the fear in the teen's eyes was not enough payment for what he had done. After a few tense moments, he could feel his conscience give him a good nudge. With his inner voice reminding him of who he was, Gavin took a deep breath and lowered the gun. But when he caught the boy smirking, Gavin shoved the gun so hard into the boy's mouth, that the barrel tore open the teen's lips and shattered two of his teeth.

"You know what...if you had caught me ten years ago motherfucker, there would have been no hesitation. I would have blown your fucking brains clean out of your skull," he said to the gagging boy before removing the gun, and wiping the bloody saliva off on his pant leg. "Now...I want you to thank this nice woman for saving your life today."

As blood flowed down the boy's chin and stained the front of his shirt, Gavin hit the boy on top of the head with the grip end of the gun, and shouted in the teen's face. "Thank her you fucking ingrate!"

"T-Thank you," the boy whined in a timid voice as he put his hands on top of his bloody head.

"Now... my suggestion to you, is that you get the fuck out of here before I change my mind," spoke Gavin softly. He then leaned in so close, that his lips were against the boy's ear. "Back in the day I used to take homeboy niggers like you, make them bite the curb, and then stomp on the back of their necks."

Shoving the boy roughly, Gavin kicked the teen in his behind, and sent him off running without daring to look back. Refusing Yvonne's assistance, Gavin got down on the sidewalk and put the dog's head in his lap. "I'm sorry buddy," Gavin sighed, "I am so sorry."

Without saying a word, Yvonne retrieved a blanket from the truck of her car, and handed it to him. Wrapping Brutus in the blanket, Gavin awkwardly hefted the big dog up into his arms. In the beam of a flashlight, he dug a shallow grave behind the old tenement building, and buried Brutus. After placing two cinder blocks over the mound to mark the burial spot, he finally allowed Yvonne to tend to the minor gunshot wound.

"What did you whisper in his ear? Yvonne asked.

Ignoring her question, he instead flashed a dimpled grin. "Thanks for being here for me," he said with a pause. "I sincerely apologize for letting you see that part of me. It was ugly wasn't it?"

"Gavin..."

"Forgive me, Yvonne?"

"There is nothing to be forgiven for," she said as she took his hand.

Yvonne's heart ached for Gavin, as she had watched him go from one extreme to the other. She had never witnessed him in such and enraged state, and she could only guess that his violent anger was just a reflection of his past life.

* * *

It was well after eleven pm when they returned to Vine Street. Most of the neighbors had already left, or were waiting for the National Guard. When local law enforcement showed up,Yvonne watched from the porch, as Drew pulled Sheriff Jones to the side for a private conversation. Yvonne knew her father in-law was a man of few words, but when he did have something to say, it was advisable to listen. When Drew left the man with a foolish and embarrassed look on his face, Yvonne wondered what her father in-law had said to the man. Yvonne laughed lightly when she heard Drew mumble a few choice and very colorful words in reference to the blowhard sheriff.

"This can't be happening," protested Evelyn as she placed a box of can goods in the bed of the pickup, and turned to her husband. "Oh my God Drew, what about our boys?"

"Don't worry about them Evelyn honey, Derek and Josh will be fine. But we need to get a move on, before the Guard shows up."

"Dad's right, we'll do best on our own," said Chris. "The shelter would leave us like sitting ducks. We need to head for the hills, and get as far from the eye of the storm as possible, mom."

As Yvonne was strapping Christian into his car seat, she thought of Derek, and like Evelyn, she wondered if her husband was okay. When she saw Christian's eyes widen when he heard his father's name mentioned, Yvonne gave him a poke to try and distract him. "Hey big guy, you ready to go on an adventure up to Nana and Pap's place?"

"What if daddy, or Uncle Josh comes home? They won't know where we is."

"Your daddy and uncle are smart fellas, and they will know how to find us," said Yvonne handing him a juice box from the cooler on the front seat. "And Christian, it is where we _are,_ not where we _is_, honey."

"Yes ma'am."

Gavin pulled his motorcycle up behind Yvonne's car, and got off. While he was unstrapping the bags from the sissy bars, Yvonne walked to the back of her car and leaned against the bumper. "What are you up to?"

Carrying one of the bags over, he put it into the open trunk where it would be out of the view of prying eyes. "I need you to take this with you Vonnie," said Gavin as he unzipped the canvas bag and took out one of the hand gun cases, and slid it beneath a bundle of blankets. "I know you don't like guns, but now is not the time to be sanctified. There are three clips in the case, but if needed, I do have more."

"Gavin, I don't think it's necessary," she said as she opened a tool box and pointed out a holster containing a Beretta. "I already have one."

"Wow, I didn't think desk jockeys at the DEA carried."

"Unfortunately we do. It's only been fired on the range, and I hope to keep it that way."

"Think about that kid who was willing to kill you. Trust me, you'd be surprised at what you'll do when it's between you and the other guy. If your baby boy was in danger, you would not hesitate to put a cap in a motherfucker's ass." He said while showing her the concealed weapons hidden beneath his heavy leather jacket. "From now on, I will be strapping." After securing the bags back onto the motorcycle, he surprised Yvonne with a kiss to the cheek. "I know your old man would expect his mama bear to protect his cub. Am I right?"

"When this is all said and done, we're going to find you a man," said Yvonne playfully. "You spend way too much time in other folks business, honey."

"If you can find one that doesn't mind a damaged veteran...you have a deal."

As the small band of travelers were pulling out, Yvonne looked into the rear view mirror, and caught Christian rubbing his tired eyes and yawning. Gazing on the little boy who she loved more than herself, Yvonne knew that Gavin was right. She would not hesitate to pull the trigger on anyone who threatened her child. "Are you ready to ride, Mr. Westbrook?"

"Yes ma'am, Mrs. Westbrook," replied Christian giggling.

It was after two am when the members of the National Guard showed up to begin the evacuation of the neighborhood. By the time the big trucks rolled up onto Vine, the rag tag caravan carrying eleven people, had already jumped on the familiar back roads, and were miles away.

Although the night was pitch black, and they were miles from Washington, the travelers could see the horizon glowing a deep red. Even from afar they could hear the distant sounds of warfare, the dull beating of chopper blades, and the rumble of tanks. And although the summer air was still, they could still smell the acrid smoke, as the nation's capital was being beaten and burned to the ground.

The group continued on until dawn. When they finally stopped Drew exited his truck to open the gates across the entrance onto a private dirt road. When they were all through, Gavin who was last in line, closed it. It had been nearly two years since Drew had been up, so the once wide mile long road was now no more than a narrow path. Mostly overgrown weeds, the twist and turns were so tight, that the bows from the pines slapped and scraped along the windows and side panels of the vehicles.

The closer they got to the top, it began to widen out, but their progress had slowed to a crawl. The hindrance was created by deep ruts left behind from heavy rains that had washed the soil downhill. After carefully maneuvering around the deep ditches and deep long tracks, they finally reaching the top. After crossing a small wooden bridge built across a narrow creek bed, the weary travelers reached their destination. Nestled in the tall pines and oaks, in a clearing with waist high grass stood the Westbrook's home away from home.

* * *

"Apparently it was not due to a system malfunction, and at this point it doesn't really fucking matter, because the bogies have already been identified as bandits. The rotten motherfuckers are on US soil," said Cap. "Team Granite! Be ready to roll out in twenty! And I do mean twenty! Not twenty-one, and not in twenty-two! So pull out your tampons, and get in gear!"

While Cap Branson was motivating Granite to hurry it up by lighting a fire under their asses, Sandman came across as the kindly coach of a volley ball team as he rallied Metal to get a move on.

"We are being dispatched to Bennett Field in New York, so gear up, because we have been put on eighteen hours deployment notice," said Sandman to his team. "I need you guys to clear your heads and remember what and who we are."

While gearing up, Derek tried once more to reach Yvonne. With just a little over two hundred miles between them, Derek never felt so far away from his wife. When the computerized message informing him that the lines were busy, he felt a cramping in his stomach, and a sudden need to go the latrine.

After taking care of business, he washed up and splashed his face with cold water. Wrapping the prayer beads around his left hand, Derek closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Please have my back on this God, and keep my family safe from harm," he prayed before putting the necklace back into his front pants pocket. With his eyes still closed, he startled when he heard someone behind him speak up.

"Don't ever try and write checks that your ass can't cash," said Cap.

"I was just-"

"There is no time for religious contemplation or making deals," said Cap sternly cutting Derek off. "Look Frosty, I am far from a religious man, but if you truly believe, then you have to follow that shit blindly. So hurry up and say thanks to your Jesus, and let's get a move on, because boots are leaving the ground in five, son. We're hitching a ride with the 44th Medical, and we cannot keep those folks waiting."

Derek took a seat amongst the familiar as well as unfamiliar faces, pulled out his good luck charm and unhooked the clasp. He let fall into the palm of his hand, the wooden wedding band that Yvonne had given to him two years earlier on their fifth wedding anniversary. He slid it onto his ring finger, and shoved the necklace back into this pants pocket. With his lips moving, he said a silent prayer and then settled in for a bit of meditative breathing to calm his nerves. He could feel his stomach flop as the Chinook lifted off, but he inhaled through his nose, and slowly released it from from between slightly parted lips.

While Staff Sergeant Derek Westbrook was heading for New York's Bennett Field in Brooklyn, New York, another Westbrook was also gearing up. Down south, in Fort Stewart Georgia, Warrant Officer Joshua Westbrook was climbing into the pilot seat of an Apache attack helicopter. The middle child of Drew and Evelyn Westbrook, the original wild child, would soon be en route to Arcadia, Virginia.


	17. Chapter 16

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This ****romance**** and ****drama**** fic is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (It is truly not my intention to offend.)**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

* * *

"The guidance and comm systems have been jammed," said Sandman. "Get geared up, and ready to roll."

"Where are we headed?" Asked Truck.

"Into Manhattan's financial district," said Sandman. "We'll be taking out a tower atop the stock exchange."

The slow moving convoy, making its way through the Wall Street District, was suddenly forced to stop when it came upon four Jersey barriers blocking an intersection. Sandman shot the young driver of the armored vehicle a look of disapproval from the back seat, as the private cursed and banged on the steering wheel. But Private First Class Alberto Montoya's grumbling and growling came to a close when he looked out the driver's side window, and crossed himself. Derek, curious as to why the younger soldier had ceased his tantrum, followed the younger man's gaze to a bombed out clothing boutique. Whatever struck the two story building, had been powerful enough to have made it collapse in on itself.

"Sweet Mother Mary," whispered the driver softly as he crossed himself again.

"They must have been up on the rooftop when it was hit," said Derek, as his eyes scanned over the rubble.

Like horrifically sculpted statues, the bodies of eight soldiers, covered in the dry powder of brick and mortar dust, made it hard at first to distinguish between them and the manikins. And as macabre and horrid as the scene was, Derek could not tear his eyes away from it. Twisted and broken like discarded dolls, their limbs were twisted like wrung washcloths. Derek could only imagine the force of the blast that crumpled the soldiers bodies into such unnatural positions. No longer able to stand it, he turned to Sandman, and patted the older man on the leg to get his attention."Hey boss man, I don't know about you, but I feel like a sitting duck in this tin can. Do you think we should foot it from here?"

"Listen dude, I suggest you guys stick with us," said Montoya cutting Derek off as he looked over his shoulder at the staff sergeant. "I know you Delta boys are all gung-ho and shit, but you stand a better chance just sitting tight, we're getting ready to roll again. Just waiting for the head of the snake to make up its mind on the detour."

A moment later when the convoy began to move again, Montoya laughed lightly and gave Derek a smug look. The staff sergeant remained silent and kept in mind the driver's age. Derek knew that the nineteen year old soldier probably thought he had earned the right to be cocky after serving two tours of duty in Afghanistan. And so Westbrook bit his tongue.

Five minutes later, as they were rolling slowly through the war torn streets of Manhattan, Montoya suddenly yelled out the all too familiar warning of an RPG. That was the last thing Derek remembered before his helmet smacked off of the fire extinguisher set in the console, and he was tossed back to the floor. With the vehicle on its side, Derek at first found it hard to get his bearings. He could barely hear beyond the ringing in his ears, as Sandman was yelling for him to get switched on.

"M-Montya!" Derek shouted at the driver who was slumped against the window.

"He's dead, Frost! We have to move! Now!"

After slowing climbing his way up and out of the armored vehicle, Derek quickly crouched down and pressed against the undercarriage. But when the heat from the metal began to scorch the back on his pack, he pulled away just as a section of building came down to crush a taxi just a few yards away. Seconds later, he felt his ears pop and the sounds of war suddenly became sharper. And with the fuzz in his brain receding, he looked to his left to see the master sergeant jump down from the vehicle, toss him a clip and bark out that they were 500 meters from the target building.

With a large section of Broadway now cut off, Derek and the others began a slow but steady trek through the Wall Street district on foot. After legging it just 200 meters, Derek could feel the beginnings of a headache, the dull thump knocking at the back of his skull. When they reached their destination on South Street, the headache had gone from knocking to head banging.

With the assistance of ground troops, they finally reached the target building. Finding minimal resistance as they made their way to the rooftop, the Delta operators took out the jamming tower. With the guidance systems back online, converting the payload back into valuable munitions, F-2 bombers locked on to key sites. That action set into motion the retreat of enemy forces as they were pushed back to the river, allowing the US to gain air dominance.

Although they had only been in the mix for no more than eight hours, Derek felt as if he had pulled a nonstop double shift. Although there was no down time in between missions, Derek had learned soon after joining the team how to adapt to the stress of get up and go. Eating on the run, and taking a piss when and where ever he could, had become second nature to him. So with his mouth full of granola bar, he emptied his bladder, shook off the excess while swallowing the last morsel of his lunch, and was the first suited up and on deck.

* * *

As they entered the collapsed tunnel, the danger that the operatives were faced with, extended beyond the structural damage. With sections of the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel now resting on the floor of the East River, making the dive difficult, the men were also faced with the unpredictable changes in the tidal straits currents.

"Frost, I know it's been a while since we've been on a dive, so I advise you stay close," said Sandman through his underwater comms unit. It doesn't take much to get lost down here, and the switch in currents could sweep you away, so keep it tight."

"Got it boss," said Derek as he pulled on the metal grate until it gave way, and waited patiently for the senior members to go ahead of him.

"Man, do you think anyone got out before it collapsed?" Grinch asked as they made their way into the tunnel.

"Nothing we can do for them now," replied the master sergeant. "Let's keep moving."

Along with avoiding the garbage that had been swept into the tunnel when sections fractured and filled with water, they also had to be aware of the swiftly moving vehicles and their drowned occupants. Derek knew that along with the storefront scene in the Wall Street District, the tunnel would also plague him for the rest of his life. But in the present moment he had to keep his composure and remain on task, while keeping the big picture in view.

And as he reached out with his left hand, and gently guided a man in an Armani suit out of his way, Derek did not so much as bat and eye. He would not allow his heart to rule his head, because the slightest change or disruption in plans could very well lead to a disastrous mission._ Stay on task Westbrook_ was all he could think while guiding the diving vehicle past a gasoline tanker. He could see through the cloudy water, the driver still secured by his seat belt, his long red hair floating like seaweed around his face.

But when the water suddenly grew calm, and a little girl suddenly appeared from out of the murky waters to float in front of him, Derek closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. But when he felt her bump against the diving vehicle, he opened his eyes and nearly let go of the DPV. She had floated up and over the front of it, until her fingers were brushing against his mask, almost sending the staff sergeant into a panic.

Derek could not bring himself to touch her, and so he steered to the left, making her slide to the right and brush along his arm. And as she slowly slid along his leg, one of her dress ties snagged on the hilt of the knife strapped to his thigh. As he looked back to see her dancing like a balloon on a string, he became anxious and swung his leg out to try and shake her loose.

When Sandman looked back, to see the child dancing around the staff sergeant's upper leg, he gestured for Grinch to lend a hand. "Grinch, take care of it."

"Got it."

As the slack period ended and the current began to once more move swiftly, Grinch made his way to Derek and with gentle hands untangled and released her into the current. "It's okay Frosty. Steady yourself," he said and then tapped the side of his head. "Come on my man, you have to keep your mind straight down here."

"She was so...small."

The mission was harrowing, and after it was confirmed that it was a success, Derek took his first real breather of the day. As the adrenaline began to wear off, he suddenly felt worn out as the aches and pains began to surface. A half hour after they had returned to Bennett Field, Derek still sat on a bench wearing his dive skins, his wet suit and diving gear in a bundle at his feet. With his aching shoulders hunched and his neck in knots, he sat staring off at the far wall as the day finally caught up to him.

With his brain now idle, he could not stop the little girl from entering his mind. With the details of her still fresh in his memory, Derek could not let go of the child. From the white sandals on her feet, to the tiny bubbles attached to her eyelashes, he could not shake the images from his mind. He wondered if the strong current of the river would eventually wash her into the estuary and then out into the Atlantic Ocean. After saying a silent prayer for her, Derek then began to pray for his family, hoping his God was listening and was keeping them in his protection. He genuinely believed that trials were thrown in his path to test his faith, and so to strengthen it, he would continue to worship. The melancholy began to lift, as he mumbled amen.

Not long after, he was dressed and had joined his teammates. Sitting around the table and sharing a hot meal together, had a cathartic effect on the team. It reminded the men, that they could be breathing one minute, and be without a heartbeat in the next. There time together as they carried on laughing and joking, brought a moment of normalcy. As he broke bread with his brothers in arms, Derek had not forgotten the day's events, but he was able to put the horrors on the back burner for a while. Now full and feeling a bunk call his name, he yawned. This set off a chain reaction that soon made its way around the table. With that, Sandman informed them that it was time to catch a few winks.

"Don't sleep too hard and deep boys, because you know we are on standby," he said as he put his stogie out in his coffee cup. Before leaving the table, he smiled and gave his team a well deserved atta-boy.

* * *

While Derek dreamed of being chased through the war torn streets of Manhattan by a child's ghost, from Langley Air Force Base, Joshua Westbrook was getting ready for a night run. It had been a long day, and with the chopper crews running non-stop, Josh had begun to feel a bit ripe. And to the dismay of his comrades, he stepped beneath the hot spray, and using his back scrubber as a microphone, Josh commenced to singing in the shower. And like his younger brother, Joshua could not carry a tune to save his own life.

As he butchered yet another song, the soldier in the next stall threatened to fill a sock with quarters, and beat the pilot to death with it. Even as he stood in the middle of the floor naked and unabashed while drying his hair, Josh continued singing. And he did not stop his medley of tunes until he was dried off and getting dressed. After pulling his boxer briefs up over his ass, Josh slid into the pocket of the camo smuggling duds, his good luck charm. Once dressed, he took a look in a handheld mirror, licked his thumb, and smoothed down his eyebrows. This was a grooming technique that Joshua had picked up from his father. From the cleft chin, chestnut hair, and dimpled smile, Joshua was truly Drew's son. But the hazel green eyes he inherited from Evelyn.

Warrant officer Joshua Westbrook put on his helmet and strapped in. With a grin plastered on his face, he gave a thumb's up to his co-pilot and gunner Charles Darwin. The younger man, who was already in the front cockpit returned the gesture, but added his own flair by looking back and playfully giving the pilot the middle finger. Fully situated, Joshua slid the tinted visor down to cover his eyes, and keyed up his mike.

"Very professional Charlie," chuckled Josh. "So gunslinger, are you ready to tear some shit up?" Josh asked the younger man.

"You know me, always ready to rip and run," replied the young gunner.

Looking to his left to see Lieutenant Shelia Mackenzie in the pilot's seat of her Apache, he keyed up to catch her attention. "How's it hanging mama bird?"

"It's hanging fine wild man," the lieutenant chuckled. "It looks like a beautiful night for flying."

"It sure does LT."

"You and gunslinger ready to rip and run?"

"Always ready ma'am," replied the warrant officer.

"Well let's go show them what we're made of, Westbrook," replied the lieutenant.

With the full moon riding high, Josh could make out the low mountain ridges and pines silhouetted against the darkening sky. The pilot felt confident that not far off, was his family. Although he was well informed that enemy presence had been contained, and had not reached his hometown, Joshua was quite certain that his father and brother had moved the family up into the hills. As they flew closer to the mountains, Josh's thoughts settled on his stubborn and stoic father. He knew that Drew Westbrook would do anything to avoid his folks being evacuated and treated like refugees.

"Once we're up over that ridge you'll see tucked up in the pines, the home away from home that I told you about," Josh said to Darwin.

"Seriously?"

"Yep. It is just over yonder," said Josh smiling as he pointed off to the west. "We used to go up there all the time to hunt."

"Did you just say over yonder, Westbrook?"

"I sure did Charlie," said Josh with a chuckle. "Man, I can almost smell the pine," he whispered to himself.

Just fourteen miles southeast of Petropavlovsk Russia, a rogue captain with his own contingency plan in mind, had taken matters into his own hands. When the nuclear missile that he released knocked out the ISS, it created an electromagnetic pulse, crippling both warring factions. But it also wreaked havoc and brought about a tremendous amount of non-combatant casualties.

When the Apache's systems were knocked off line, Josh knew that it was useless to panic or pray. Besides, unlike most of his comrades, Joshua Westbrook was not a God fearing man. He only had one co-pilot; and that was Charles Darwin. And so together they would put their faith in each other to try and land the Apache with skill, not prayer. Joshua knew that if they could execute the no-engine maneuver, the Apache would not drop from the sky like a stone.

Keeping his head, Joshua lowered the nose of the chopper. With no way to communicate with Shelia, Josh could only watch as his friend Lt. Shelia Mackenzie fought to gain control of her Apache. Josh could see that she was in trouble, and as the lieutenant quickly lost control of her bird, the chopper spun out of control, slammed into a hillside, and burst into flames.

"Execute the flare!" Darwin screamed. "Pitch up! Pitch up!"

When Joshua pulled back, the two men could feel the tail end scraping along the tops of the tall trees, the rear rotor slicing like a weed-whacker through the pines. Josh knew then that he had executed the maneuver too late and pulled up too high. When the bird wobbled and then tore through the trees, Josh braced for the impact. The chopper slammed head on into the trunk of a huge pine, fishtailed to bounce off of another, and tore the back end off. Knocking both men unconscious, the force of the impact also broke the gunner's back, and both of his legs. The crushed and buckled metal shattered Joshua's left arm, fracturing his wrist and pinning his hand.

* * *

While dozens of moths, drawn by the low light of the lanterns, fluttered and bumped against the porch screening, the group sat in silence and listened in, as a reporter spoke rapidly through the radio static. It had been confirmed that enemy forces had advanced and were gaining ground as far up the coast to New York. When they heard the sound of choppers, Drew quickly doused the lanterns. With the moonlight illuminating their view of the spectacular mountains, they could see pinpoints of light as the choppers drew nearer.

Sitting on the porch swing with his wife, Drew took Evelyn's hand into his. "Hey darlin', wouldn't it be something if Josh was in the pilot's seat of one of them birds?"

"Now wouldn't that be a hell of a coincidence," said Chris as he stood up from his seat, and plucked a large moth from the screen. "But from this far off, dad... it's hard to tell if they're friend or foe."

The worried woman gave a weak smile, before speaking. "Would anyone like a slice of peach pie? I don't know if it will be as good as usual. Grace and I had to depend on peaches from a can, and sometimes that old wood stove's oven doesn't cook as evenly as the one at home."

Drew put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. "No honey, we're all fine."

"I don't believe in coincidence," said Maxine. "Shit happens for a point and a reason, honey."

"I agree with you on that Ms. Maxine," said Gavin. "You know there are mystics from the East who firmly believe that everything is connected, and that nothing is by coincidence."

Gavin frowned and stood up when he saw the Apache's rotor light flicker out, and tilted his head, when he heard the thumping of the choppers cut out completely. Before he could ask the others if they had noticed, there was a violent explosion. They all gasped in shock as Mackenzie's chopper slammed into the hillside, the ball of flames visible from miles off. Seconds later, they heard the violent crash, as the second chopper went down in the forest. For a moment no one made a sound, or moved from their places on the porch. But moments later, as they witnessed a C-17 carrying one-hundred and two members of the 82nd Airborne go down, they could only gasped in awe.

"Oh my Lord," whispered Evelyn.


	18. Chapter 17

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This ****romance**** and ****drama**** fic is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (It is truly not my intention to offend.)**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

* * *

Although the front cockpit had literally been swallowed up by pine boughs, Josh could make out the back of the gunner's helmet. Calling out Darwin's name, the warrant officer had no idea that the man slumped in his restraints with his chin resting on his chest had died. He would have been thankful to know that Charlie had not suffered, because he had expired while still unconsciousness."Charlie," the pilot called out again, as he tried to get his copilot's attention. But when Josh tried to move his left arm to unlatch his harness, he soon discovered that not only was it broken, but that his hand was trapped as well. Tilting his head back, Joshua bit the inside of his cheek and flounced in his harness, as the pain rolled in waves from his shoulder down to the tips of his broken fingers.

"Charlie!" Josh shouted out in pain, but quickly quieted when he suddenly grew nauseous. "Fucking...stuck..." he mumbled.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the pungent and overpowering odors of pine tar and engine oil, Josh's stomach gurgled and bubbled. Releasing an undignified garlic infused belch, he turned his head just in time as his last meal came up. The sour stench of regurgitated linguine topped it for him, as he scrunched up his face and spat out a mouthful of thick phlegm. After getting his bearings, using his right hand, Josh clumsily undid the strap beneath his chin and removed his helmet. The effort it took to perform the simple task wore him out, and he relaxed for a brief spell to work up enough strength to undo his harness. But before he could, the pilot went out again, but awoke just moments later in a state of confusion. Not long after he was fumbling around in the dark and working up a sweat, until he finally got himself out of the restraints.

_What a fool,_ he thought when he remembered the tactical penlight that he kept in the left pocket of his combat shirt sleeve. Using his teeth to hold it steady, he shined it along the narrow gap where his hand was trapped just above his wrist. _This is not going to be easy_ he thought. With his right hand, Josh tried at first to force the crushed metal apart, but he soon gave up on that idea, when the pain brought tears to his eyes. He then took a moment to mentally psyche himself up, in preparation for what he knew was going to bring on mind blowing pain. With his teeth still clamped down on the flashlight, Josh wrapped his hand around his left forearm and yanked. When he let loose a chilling scream, the penlight fell from his mouth, and landed out of his reach. Mind blowing was putting it mildly, when he saw white halos of light dance in his vision. The pain that he experienced not only made Josh's toes curl and his legs shake, but to his dismay his bladder also released.

The piercing cry that was pulled from his throat was as raw and real as it gets, and he did not stop until he ran out of air and his throat nearly seized up. The scream was followed up with ragged breathing and tears flowing from the corners of his eyes. After the pain receded to a dull thumping, he grit his teeth and verbally encouraged himself to try again. "Okay. Okay. I got this," he whispered and wiped the sweat from his brow. His next attempt became his last when Josh felt the bones in his wrist grind and shift around like marbles in a bag. He had no idea why, but he called out to Charlie for help. But after getting no response from the gunner, Josh relaxed in his seat.

Westbrook knew that if his friend and comrade had not stirred after the bloodcurdling scream, then Charles Darwin would not be responding to anything ever again. Josh remembered what Charles had said about death. The gunner had firmly believed that it was all in the luck of the draw when it came to a person's ticket being punched. "Done and done, is how you saw it gunslinger. And no amount of prayer and lucky charms could stop the Reaper from knocking when that time comes."

It was then that Josh remembered his own good luck charm. He unfastened the buttons on his pants, and ran the tips of his fingers over the waistband of his now damp boxer briefs until they slid into the smuggle pocket. He pulled from it a ring, that he rolled between his thumb and finger before putting it into his mouth. Using his painfully dry tongue as a guide, Josh worked it down over his ring finger. "Well, it seems like you still got a bit of luck left in you," he said as he kissed the black ceramic band. But when he heard the sound of something or someone coming through the woods, the pilot hoped he was not wrong about his lucky streak. When he heard the distinct howl of coyotes, he froze.

With a hand that was amazingly steady, the warrant officer drew his weapon and thumbed off the safety. "Get along little doggies," he whispered in a sing-song voice. With his heart pounding heavily in his chest, Joshua fired two shots into the air. As the small pack of nocturnal hunters ran off, Josh lowered the gun into his lap, but kept his finger around the trigger.

As the hours passed, the moon vanished from his sight, and the pilot found himself in the dark. The forest, now drawing in on him made Joshua grow anxious, and soon his idle mind became the Devil's workshop. When what ifs began to plague him, before fear could seize him, Josh thought it best to think of something else. As morbid as it was, the pilot started a one sided conversation with the dead gunner. The warrant officer went on about his family and friends as if he and Charlie were chatting over a cup of coffee. The pilot spoke with pride as he told Charlie about how much he admired his younger brother Derek.

"My brother was just ten years old when he stood up for his girl," he said smiling in recollection. "Derek put pellets into two bad ass boys who were threatening to harm his Vonnie. And check this out, Charlie...fifteen years later she became his wife, and they're still together. And they have a little fella who is a Westbrook through and through, dimpled cheeks and all."

Josh then spoke about himself. He revealed to his deceased comrade how he had gone from stealing cars to piloting Apaches. Josh even told Charlie about his first five finger discount. At nine the pilot said he shoplifted a hot rod magazine from the local convenience store. Josh admitted that when he was eleven he stole a six-pack of Budweiser and a pack of Pall Malls from his Uncle Raphael. Josh laughed as he told the dead man about getting drunk as a skunk after just one can, and spent the night throwing up. "Man my dad tore my hide for that one. I think my mom was more upset with him for whooping my ass, than with my dirty deed. Even though we were a handful, she never believed in raising a hand to us. But don't get it wrong, Charlie... she didn't let me off without paying for my fuck up. I spent a month in my bedroom, and spent the rest of summer vacation working for my uncle and aunt at their restaurant," he said chuckling. "My mom..." he could feel the lump in his throat rise just thinking of her.

Josh fell silent for a minute, before clearing his throat to speak. "You know what gunslinger, no boy could ask for a better mom than my mother Evelyn. She's the only one who has ever understood me. She stood by me when I got into some bad shit and landed in front of a judge. And if not for her having a heart to heart with the judge, I would not have been offered the choice of doing time, or joining the military to straighten my ass out. My mom saved my life." Josh shook his head. "I may have been her wild child, and a black sheep to most, but to this day, my mother Evelyn never plays favorites when it come to us boys," he said, before taking a deep breath as his arm began to pound.

His mouth had gone dry, and unable to reach his canteen, Josh thought it was best to stop regaling the dead man with his stories, before his tongue turned to dust. With exhaustion beginning to take its toll, not even his pain could override his body's need for sleep. Josh dozed off into a fitful slumber, until hours later waking up in excruciating pain and in dire need of hydration. Looking up at the small patch of sky visible through the trees, he could see that dawn was breaking. Groaning, the trapped pilot tried to pull up enough saliva to wet his tongue, but all his throat could produce was a painfully dry click.

Using his teeth, Josh tugged off his glove, and then ran his hand over whatever surface he could reach that had collected condensation. He licked his fingers and the palm of his hand to get what little water he could, but knew that it was not enough. Josh was not a pessimistic person, but was quite certain that if he was not rescued soon, he would be joining Charlie. To try and stay alert, Josh began to do a rough calculation to figure out how long he had been trapped. And before dozing off again, he wondered if rescue would be anytime soon, or would it come at all.

* * *

From inside the warmth of his sleeping bag, Gavin grunted and balled up into the fetal position. His discomfort was not due to sleeping on the cabin's hardwood floor, but was brought on by phantom pain. Rolling onto his back Gavin opened his eyes to view the dawn break through the skylight above his head. Sitting up slowly he massaged his left thigh to try and ease the sparking nerve pain in his stump, but it would not let up.

Unable to return to sleep, Gavin attached the prosthetic and quietly dressed. With a bag of his best bud, he left the cabin and made his way down to the creek. "Peace and serenity," he said as he sat down on the bridge, rolled the suspension sleeve down his thigh and removed his prosthetic. After carefully placing it on the planks behind him, he rolled himself a spliff, and slid the joint in and out of his mouth to dampen it. Lighting up and sitting with his right leg dangling over the side, Gavin tucked his hair behind his ears, and focused on the clumps of cattails swaying along the banks. As the itch that he could not scratch became a memory, Gavin took in Mother Nature's beauty while enjoying his buzz.

When he heard someone coming, Gavin did not bother to hide the weed, but instead turned his head slowly towards the person coming through the cut. "Don't worry dude, I'm a card carrying member, so don't get all Hitler on me," he said through the haze of smoke. "It's medicinal, my man. Used to relieve the nerve damage in my leg."

"You know it is not legal in the state of Virginia," said Chris using an authoritative tone, as he waved the smoke away. "And how could you be so inconsiderate. You know damn well that Yvonne works for the DEA."

"Well considering our government is on lock-down right now, I doubt the DEA finds my smoking medical Maryjane a real priority right now," he said as smoke swirled from between his lips. "What can I do for you chief?" Gavin asked with annoyance, as he flicked the roach into the stream.

"My dad thinks we should take a hike down to the crash site to check for survivors. And he thought that because you worked para-rescue-"

"This has to do with Miss Evelyn, doesn't it?" Gavin asked as he began reattaching the artificial limb.

"Well…she believed that nonsense you and Ms. Maxine were spouting off about," said Chris putting his hands on his hips. "You got her all fixated on my brother Joshua, and that's not good."

"I assume your poor mother believes that there is a possibility that the pilot of that downed chopper is your brother. And she believes her boy is lying down there in the forest hurt and in need of help. Am I right?"

"Will you help, or not? We don't have all day sport."

"I think Para-rescue has it covered, chief," said Gavin. "Let them handle it."

"The way shit was falling from the sky last night...you know damn well that no one will be searching in these mountains anytime soon."

"We've both soldiered, so let me be blunt with you," said Gavin. "What if it is your brother? And what if we bring him out of those woods feet first?" He asked. "What then, chief? Do we bring her son's broken body back to her?"

Gavin smirked when the man's jaw tighten and he cut his eyes at the veteran. Not at all affected by the older man, Gavin simply stood up, brushed past Chris, and spoke without looking back. "You don't have to ask twice, because your folks have been good to me. I will do it for them...and only_ them_," he emphasized, before leaving the bridge.

By eight-thirty, they had everything they needed in the bed of Drew's pickup, and were ready to hit the road. Two hours later when they were forced to leave the truck at the foot of a trail, loaded down with rescue and medical supplies, the men started off on foot through the woods towards the crash site. By the time they found the wreckage, Josh had been trapped nearly seventeen hours. Gavin, the first to make it to the chopper, immediately began to clear and break off branches to clear the front cockpit to reach the gunner. After removing a piece of the Apache's canopy from Charlie's lap, Gavin's eyes fell on the fractured femur bone jutting out of a rip in the gunner's pant leg. He knew by the dark sticky pool of congealed blood that the deceased man was sitting in, that the femoral artery had been severed, and that he had bled out. After confirming that Charlie was beyond help, Gavin immediately turned his attention to Joshua. But before he could attend to him, he was roughly pushed to the side by Drew, who in a panic began to shake the unconscious Josh in an attempt to bring him around.

"Josh! Son! Wake up!"

"Hey, it's cool," said Gavin as he put his hand on Drew's back. "But you need to give me room Mr. Westbrook, so I can help him, sir."

Drew hesitated, but climbed out of the cockpit to allow Gavin access to examine Josh. Opening this eyes to see a stranger with long blonde hair hovering over him, the lethargic pilot reached slowly for the gun in his lap, but was subdued by a loose grip around his wrist. "Hold up dude, I'm here to help you," said the veteran as he released his hold on the disoriented pilot. Gavin smiled, and spoke softly telling Joshua that he was in good hands, and that his father and brother were present.

"Charlie...I'm thirsty," croaked Josh through chattering teeth, as his eyes rolled back into his head. "Charlie..."

"Dear God," said Drew. He opened a bottle of water and passed it to Gavin. "Please...help my son."

Using a crowbar, Gavin immediately set about trying to free Josh. After working it back and forth between the crushed metal until it finally gave, he was able to form a gap wide enough to extract the warrant officer's hand. To get them from underfoot so that he could take care of the injured pilot, Gavin asked Drew and Chris to kindly remove Charlie from the wreckage, and find a spot to lay him to rest.

After doing a visual inspection of Josh, Gavin was able to determine that the pilot had suffered a broken wrist, hand, and four broken digits. His wrist was so severely swollen that his watchband was digging into the flesh. With a calm expression on his face, Gavin cut the watch from the pilot's wrist, while all the while talking to him. When Gavin turned Josh's hand over to examine the palm, the pilot hissed and informed the veteran of his discomfort.

"My paw is killing me, Long Hair," Josh slurred out. "I don't mean to complain, but it's singing the blues."

"Give me a sec, and I'll give you something to take the edge off, and then we'll get you out of this tin can."

"Thank you Long Hair," replied Josh as he licked his lips. Looking over Gavin's shoulder, Josh could see his father and brother wrapping the gunner in blankets. "Charlie..."

To try and keep Josh awake, Gavin continued to converse with the pilot, asking him questions to see if maybe he was in worse condition than he appeared. And each time the lethargic man answered him by addressing him as Long Hair, the veteran could not resist chuckling. After giving the warrant officer a few more sips of water, the veteran took a back pack from his back and unzipped it. Taking the proper temporary splints from the bag, he then set about working on Josh's fractures. Although his medical bag held many useful items, when Josh began to cry out, Gavin knew that what he really needed was something much stronger than Tylenol. Prying open a compartment, he smiled when he found the Apache's emergency medical kit. When he opened it up, Gavin gave a rare thanks to his government. With his eyes going over the supplies in the bag, he had to give a nod to Uncle Sam for providing his boys and girls with the best that tax payers money could buy. And not long after providing his patient with some medicinal comfort, the pilot thanked him through glazed over eyes.

"Not a problem flyboy," said Gavin.

With the solemn task of burying the gunner, Drew and Chris had carried the body wrapped in blankets into a small clearing beyond the crash site. When the elder Westbrook picked up his spade and stuck it into the loose and rich mountain soil, he paused in his digging to take a moment to get his emotions under control. After the two men had dug the grave deep and wide enough, before placing the gunner into his resting place, the older man removed from the ball-chain one of Charlie's tags. After filling the hole, Drew and Chris rolled two large stones over the mound to prevent the body from being disturbed by wild animals. While Drew said a prayer, Chris formed a cross out of two strips of metal from the Apache, and marked the head of the grave. He hung Charlie's flight helmet on top of the cross and recited a soldiers prayer.

"I promise you, this will be temporary for you son," said Drew placing his hand on one of the large stones. "We'll make sure that folks know where you're laid to rest."

* * *

Evelyn blew back a loose strand of hair from her face, as she worked the rolling pin across the biscuit dough. Along with Maxine and Grace, Evelyn was determined to keep her hands busy. With windows open to bring in the fresh air, the antique Home Comfort wood stove heated up the large open kitchen, but the older ladies took no notice of it, as they went about preparing supper. Even in modest conditions, they were whipping up a homemade dinner fit for a king. The women had no need for food processors, or any other fancy appliances. They were determined to make sure their folks were fed well until they got down to the last bean and strip of jerky. When Maxine looked back to see Evelyn trying to hold back tears, she went to her and bumped against her hip, making Evelyn chuckle.

"Hey Evelyn, I heard from Drew, that when you were a girl, you loved to cut a rug," chuckled out Maxine. "Do you still like to sing and dance?"

With her face already flush from the heat, Evelyn blushed two shades darker and playfully waved Maxine off. "Oh my! I haven't danced in years Maxy," said Evelyn. "And I only sing in church on Sundays."

"That's too bad, girl," tsked Maxine. "Singing gets your blood pumping and your heart jumping."

"You know what," said Evelyn with a thoughtful look on her face, "It's truly a crying shame that none of my boys can carry a tune," she said dusting flour over the dough. As she began to stamp out the circles of dough, Evelyn smiled. "Dear Lord, Chris has a voice flat as a pancake. And poor Derek makes the hounds howl. And my Josh...well he may be a smooth talker, but that boy's singing voice sounds like a rusty nail."

Maxine opened a bottle of wine, and filled two plastic cups to the rim. And as they were putting the last touches on their dishes, Grace shook her head at them, as the two drank wine, and performed a medley of seventies tunes. As the children set the table, Yvonne and Samantha helped the older women bring the hot platters and bowls to the table. It was now well after five, and with the children hungry, they thought it best to get started.

When Christian stood up in his chair and reached across the table for a biscuit, Yvonne tapped him on the behind. "What do you think you're doing? Sit down and ask nicely for someone to pass them to you Christian."

"Sorry mommy," he said blushing as he took his seat. "Could you pass me a biscuit please?"

Yvonne rolled her eyes and took a biscuit from the basket and put it on his plate. "Mind your manners, Christian." _So much like your father_ she thought to herself while watching him tear into the buttery biscuit.

Just as she was about to go into one of her motherly lectures on manners and respect, Yvonne stopped when the unmistakable rumble of Drew's truck engine could be heard as he drove it over the bridge. All eyes went to Evelyn, who put her fork down slowly and stood up from the table. Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly to the open door and stepped out onto the porch. Looking through the dust covered mesh, Evelyn stood with her fingers wrapped tightly around the door handles, afraid to move for fear that her legs would betray her. But when the truck pulled up, and she saw her son as he was being helped out of the backseat of the extended cab, she nearly yanked the old wood out of the frame as she flung the screen doors open, and took off down the porch stairs.

"I knew it was you," said the relieved mother through her tears as she ran to greet her son. Careful of his injuries, Evelyn kissed him. "I knew it was you, honey."


	19. Chapter 18

**Characters from Cod Modern Warfare 3 are property of Infinity Ward / Activision**

**This romance and drama fic is a work of fiction, and is set in an AU. It contains mild sexual content, swearing, and subject matter that some may find offensive. (It is truly not my intention to offend.)**

**AN: Thanks to all who continue to read and review.**

* * *

Derek pulled up a pair of faded plaid pajama bottoms up over his hips, and put on an old ratty Go Army t-shirt. With a journal and pen in hand, he left the bunk room and headed off to his quiet spot; the utility closet. He entered the small confines and took his usual seat, a milk crate with a mop head serving as a cushion. As primitive as his hideaway was, it was a place of solitude for the staff sergeant. A spot where just a moment of peace could be found for him to clear his head and write down his thoughts. Before opening his diary, Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the flickering of the fluorescent lighting.

_2 Oct 2016_

_After spending the day in a torrential downpour, I returned back to my temporary home, with wet drawers, aches, and a bone tiredness that reminded me that I'm no longer 18. And after scouring and showering the stench from my body, I tore into a piece of meatloaf that I believe was made from sawdust and clay, because it feels like I have a large stone in the pit of my stomach. _

_I know that I should have forced myself off to bed early, but unfortunately I am a man of habit. And as always with routine, I will drag my exhausted ass down to the common room and tune into CNN. If I am lucky I may even get to relax in the red throne, the old recliner that smells of farts and feet. With more rips than leather, the old barcalounger that we fondly named the throne, is religiously fought over. This is because the old girl is surprisingly the best seat in the barracks._

After finishing off his entry he made his way down the corridor to the lounge where he found the throne empty. Flopping down into the aged chair with a sigh, the weary staff sergeant listened in as a lovely news correspondent with a voice like honey, lulled him off into a light doze in front of the set. As the pleasantly pleasing newscaster had finished up her story on displaced civilians, Derek opened his eyes to see a grim face, brick jawed correspondent going on about civil unrest.

_"The war has created a no-holds barred environment, sparking off civil unrest up and down the east coast, and as far into the mid-west as Missouri. From white power groups to Christian Fundamentalists, the fanatics and radicals have been given a platform to preach their agendas. It has been reported, that between recruiting and gathering followers, extremists have been committing acts of domestic terrorism, from bombing government buildings to kidnapping and killing local officials. This has prompted the President to put forth an immediate legislative change__ to the long standing Posse Comitatus Act. This change will untie the hands of all branches of the US Armed Forces, and give them permission under the law to confront and combat domestic terrorists."_

* * *

In the early morning hours, a chopper landed in a remote pasture on an abandoned farm just miles out of the small rural hamlet of Revenge Ohio. Metal had been assigned the task of capturing two homegrown terrorists, a couple wanted for a bombing at the Tobyhanna Army Depot in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Forty-two year old retired Army captain Genevieve Petrie, the founder of the fast rising supremacist group Creative 211, and her co-founder Reverend Harrison Charter, had fled the state of Pennsylvania.

Before the sun could rise and burn off the cover of thick mist, the four men exited the chopper, and began their journey through a cornfield. As they came just within a kilometer of the fenced in property, they halted to survey the land.

Much like Victor Maitland's Alaskan hideout, the setup was barely a step above it. Although fenced in, the enclosure was made up of crooked posts and rusted barbed wire fencing. Sitting on three acres of land were four buildings. Two squat cinder block structures, whitewashed, windowless, and roofed with asbestos shingles sat to the north end of the fenced in property. To the west stood a large ramshackle church, its paint long gone leaving the seasoned wood exposed and weathered. Behind it was the target building, a large farmhouse that had once served as the church's rectory. Derek looked through his scope to check out. He could see from his position, a large sign posted on the door warning others of the dangers of the condemned structure. With memories of Hyder in mind, Derek was thinking of the old general store when he spotted a pen. But instead of raggedy dogs, he spied three geese. And being a country boy, Derek knew that geese made great natural alarms.

"Check out the chicken coop set to the left side of the farmhouse," he whispered into his comm. "It's holding geese."

"Take care of them before they get started," replied Sandman.

After disposing of the birds, the men slowly proceeded towards the dooryard, where they could hear the snapping of the sheets that had been hung on a clothes line strung between the rectory and the leaning storehouse. Each time the wind blew, the sheets competed with the banging of the crooked and ajar rusted metal door on the empty grain storehouse.

"Why do these folks always take up in raggedy shit like this, Frosty?" said Truck.

"They're either stupid, or overly confident that no one will find them."

Stacked up along the wall, the men suddenly heard the squeal of door hinges. Ducking back and using the heavy fog for cover, the men spotted Genevieve coming out of a side door. Wearing a double holster carrying Desert Eagles, and carrying a large canvas bag in her right hand, Petrie began making her way to a Range Rover parked just a few feet from the door. As she was opening the tailgate, Truck stepped out of the thick mist and snatched her from behind. The scraping of gravel beneath their boots and a few muffled curses from the woman as he covered her mouth was as far as the scuffle went. The sergeant subdued Genevieve relieving the former captain of her weapons. From beneath the hood and behind the gag, the woman's muffled cries did not phase the operative as he hauled her away.

While Truck handled the female fugitive, Sandman gestured for Derek and Grinch to follow him inside. Entering through the side door, they found themselves in the kitchen. Derek could tell by the poor condition of the room that the structure was rotting and decaying from the inside out. With Sandman taking lead, the operatives moved silently across weak and bowed floorboards. While Grinch was assigned the task of finding and collecting any valuable information, Sandman had Derek accompany him with finding Charter. Using precaution, Sandman pulled aside a dingy sheet that covered the doorway which led into a parlor.

After sweeping the room, the men headed for the landing to the stairs leading up to the second floor. They carefully stepped over the chunks of plaster that had fallen from the sagging and water damaged ceiling, and stopped midway in the short dark hallway. Westbrook fastened the flap of his mask across his mouth as the cloying odors of moth balls and mold grew stronger. Moving slowly down the corridor, he feared that if they had to fire a shot, that the buckling and cracked walls of the dying house would collapse in on them.

Cocking his head to the side, Derek was quite certain that he could hear snoring. He caught Sandman's attention by lightly tapping the master sergeant on the arm and nodding in the direction of the last door on the right. Derek stepped up to it, and raised his weapon as Sandman slowly opened the door on its squealing hinges. Upon entering, the two were able to cross the creaking floorboards to stand at the foot board without stirring the bed's occupant. Sprawled out on his back in his undies and a wife beater tee, the Reverend Harrison Charter made for a comical sight. With his mouth hung open like a barn door and snoring like a chainsaw, the man was so deep into his slumber that he was unaware that in just seconds he would being shook out of his sweet dream of strippers and whiskey.

Sandman and Derek snatched Charter from his bed, bound his hands behind his back and slid a hood over his head. And when the sixty-seven year old proceeded to curse the masked men to hell and back, they were forced to gag him. But by the time that they had reached the extraction point, they had to remove the gag when his breathing became labored.

"You cowards! Show your faces," hissed out Charter as they hauled him forcefully up the ramp.

"That's enough sir," said Sandman.

"Long before the Russians landed on our shores this nation was already on its way to hell in a hand basket," said Charter between rattling breaths. "Instead of uniting against the Aryan race you puppets of the government should be extinguishing the hordes of mud people, degenerates and homosexuals."

"Listen up, you don't get a motherfucking soap box to stand on," said Truck as he readjusted the hood over the man's head.

"Pale is the color of Death's horse," panted out Charter from behind his hood. "You... w-will all beg for your suffering to end when the horsemen are released upon you-"

Derek pushed the hooded terrorist down roughly into a seat. "Just sit there, and shut the fuck up!" The staff sergeant then took a seat beside the captive and nudged Truck. "Bastard doesn't know when to quit," said Derek in a huff.

"You can make light if you want to, but when Hades follows the pale rider and smites-"

"Say another word old man, and I'll _smite _your ass," said Sandman from across the aisle. "I dare you to test me."

"You best get prepared for one hell of a fight shadow man," wheezed out Charter. "The ways of the righteous-"

"Hush up, Harrison," Genevieve said. "Don't give these motherfuckers the satisfaction."

Derek frowned when Genevieve shushed Harrison and cut him off as if he were her child. "They are nothing to us," she said. Her slow southern drawl was deep and graveled as she twisted in her seat to get more comfortable. She then turned her hooded head in Derek's direction, her voice sultry, but slick. "You're a southern boy...I can hear it in your voice, hun. I'm thinking maybe...Virginia. Which more than likely means that your mama is your sister." She chuckled and then slowly turned her head and nodded in Sandman's direction. "You're a Georgia boy. Honey, I know a good ole boy from my home state when I hear his voice," she said seductively. "It's too bad you're on their side darlin'."

Tilting her head back, she began to dramatically inhale and exhale as if trying to identify an odor. The light material of the hood drawing in and out with each breath as she turned in Truck's direction. "Hm...I detect a monkey on board this chopper," she said with a dark chuckle. "I believe its the boy who snatched me up. Am I right? Is there a nigger on board?"

"Lady," said Truck, "Do you know how high up we are at the moment?"

"Genny, step lightly," whispered Charter harshly.

"Calm down, Harrison," she said. "I know who and what these assholes are," said Petrie in her sly voice. "These motherfuckers don't wipe their asses without asking for permission first, so they wouldn't so much as dare harm a hair on either one of our heads. You have to know how the game is played, preacher man. If the government wanted us to disappear, these big bad cocksuckers would have killed us on sight."

By the time Metal had turned the captives over to the proper authorities, they were told that they were being routed back to New York. Exhaustion took a back seat as the operatives munched on granola bars and then cat napped on their way back to the Big Apple. They did not return to Bennett Field until sunrise. After stumbling his way to his bunk, Derek collapsed sideways across the uncomfortable mattress. Ignoring the collection of funky fragrances that covered him like a shroud, the staff sergeant was out within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

* * *

In the small circle of lamplight, Derek opened his journal. As he flipped through the pages to find a clean sheet, a dried sunflower petal slid from between two pages to land on the tabletop. He had no idea how it came to be in his journal, but holding it under the light, the staff sergeant was suddenly overcome with nostalgia. As he spun the brown petal between his thumb and forefinger, Derek recalled bouquets of the large yellow flowers. In his mind he could see his mother's garden, and the dinner plate sized flowers that she would let him pick out. He could see his younger self running around the corner to Yvonne's house to give to her the bouquet with the colorful tissue paper and cellophane wrapped around the stems. "I miss you so much Vonnie," he whispered as he stuck the petal back into its place.

_5 Oct 2016_

_This morning while showering I found my first gray hair, and it was a lot further south of my head than I had hoped. Funny how when I was a boy, I couldn't wait to sprout a few. _

_Well, today was like any other, I spent it keeping up on casualty and news reports, hoping to get word of what in the hell is going on back home. I miss my wife and son so much that it makes my heart ache. My boy will be five on the 15th of this month. It is sad to know that his fifth birthday will be marked by war._

_Now that I am in my 30's and have gained a bit of wisdom, I spend time reflecting back to when I was 18, and fresh out of boot camp. After seeing a group of young soldiers yesterday afternoon enjoying their downtime indulging in war porn and video games, it brought to my mind younger days. With their boyish grins plastered on their baby faces, they remind me of myself and others that I had served with and befriended when I first started out. But it also brings up the faces of friends and comrades that I have lost, like Jocelyn. _

After finishing off the entry, Derek quickly stored his journal away and headed off to play poker. Although the staff sergeant was not much of a card shark and usually walked away empty handed, he enjoyed spending time with the other men. He got a kick out of listening to the older men give him advice on a range of subjects. At the moment Derek was giving his full attention to Sandman, as the older man passed on to him a piece of obvious marital advice.

"When you go home on leave...never try to rule the roost," said Sandman as he tossed his chips into the pot. "You have to keep in mind that your better half holds down the fort, and so she is the queen of the castle. Don't ever forget that, Frosty."

"Oh believe me, I had to learn that the hard way," said Derek laughing. "She's as sweet as sweet potato pie, but my Vonnie is no pushover. The woman is truly the supreme ruler of our humble abode."

"And as far as taking care of business, some women like a man in control," interrupted Coffin. "Especially if he's been gone for a long time. Nothing like being a returning soldier with a hot babe waiting with open arms."

"You got it all wrong, Neanderthal," chuckled Cap. "You need to listen to the queen of your castle when she tells you what she likes. On my first night home, I'm in the bedroom turning down the lights, putting on her favorite music, and pulling out the honey dust," said Cap with a wink. "You see, the best way to get what you want in the bedroom is to let her lead the way. We always think we need to be in control. My wife runs everything in our marriage, from the bedroom to the checkbook. And I love her for it. My eye may stray from time to time, but my dick stays in my pants, because it belongs to Mrs. Angela Marie Branson. She owns it...lock, stock, and fucking barrel."

And after three hours of going up against the veteran card players, the staff sergeant was soon left with empty pockets. As they played on, he hung around for the conversation. And after an hour of listening to Grinch and Sandman have a very passionate discussion over whose grandma made the best pecan pie, the conversation took a turn from light to dark, suddenly changing the tone and mood around the table.

"I've never been one for omens and shit," said Cap as he fanned out the cards in his hand. "But for the past three nights, I've had some unsettling dreams," he said as he tossed his cards to the table. "Shit like being caught in a raging storm that left me fighting my way out of my sleep. I got a bad feeling that we will soon be heading into the eye of a storm."

"Well, whatever storm comes our way Cap, you know we'll ride it out," said Sandman.

* * *

After checking his weapons and packing his gear, Derek sat down to write in his journal. Gripping the pen tightly, he wrote frantically, his usual neat penmanship now nothing more than chicken scratch. Without time for contemplating his words, the staff sergeant wrote whatever came to his mind. With no time to take refuge in the utility room, Derek wrote in the commotion going on around him.

_ 6 Oct 2016_

___In less than an hour, we will be heading off to Hamburg Germany. Like Cap, I can feel a storm brewing, but in our band of brothers, we try our best not to make mention of omens and bad shit before taking off. It is a rule that we all try to abide by. _

___Times like this always give way to reflection. I begin to think of my mortality and if I'll be the next fella going home in a metal casket. And because there is no way of knowing whose luck runs out, it sometimes makes me feel as if I am in a game of Russian Roulette. When my boots hit the ground, it feels as if a revolver is placed at my temple, and it remains there the entire time that my feet are on the ground. And with each close call, the trigger is pulled and I can hear the click of the empty chamber. But for some reason, I have a bad feeling that when we touch down in Hamburg, the revolver will be fully loaded._

___ For almost fifteen years, I have been a good soldier and a model employ of Uncle Sam's, but I could walk away today without looking back.____ Although I love my job, and I have accomplished my goals and then some, I can truly say that it is time for me to hang up my cowboy hat. And if this war were to end tomorrow, I would not hesitate to retire. I feel in my heart that it is time for me to trade in my lonely bunk for the comfort of sleeping each and every night beside my beautiful wife. I am tired of eating in chow halls and slamming junk down my gullet while on the run. I want to sit down with my family at the table and bow my head in grace over my wife's homemade chicken stew, and my mother's fresh baked bread. And when the time comes, I am prepared to trade in my combat boots for sneaks, so that I can climb trees and run foot races with my little boy. And I cannot wait for the day to come when the only need for me to raise a weapon will be to put food on the table. _

_____And God willing, if I survive the storm, I promise that when my feet are back on home soil, and come Hell or high waters, I am going to make it back to Virginia to find my family._

With eyes skimming over the pages, Derek flexed his cramped fingers and cracked his knuckles. He then removed the sunflower petal from the book's creased pages, and handled it gently to prevent it crumbling in his hand. The staff sergeant secured the petal in a pocket sleeve and slid the journal into a large manila envelope with two others. He placed the envelope with his other personal effects that were packed neatly away in his foot locker. He knew that if he did not make it back, that JPED would make sure that the journals would reach Yvonne.

* * *

**A/N: I based my fictional group Creative211 after the racists religious group Creativity Movement. The numbers 2 and 11 representing the initials of the founder Ben Klassen, who was a state legislator from Florida. I got the idea after reading an article on the neo-nazi organization Combat 18 which originated in England. Whereas my group is only fictional, unfortunately the Creativity Movement and Combat 18 do exist.**


End file.
